


Hot Whine

by WhisperWeeper



Series: You & I [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: A Story Where France Throws Austria A Christmas Party Just To Get Him A Date, Austria Is A Lovesick Sap, Austria May Or May Not Deserve It, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cooking, Everyone Is A Bitter Berry, Excessive Drinking, France Being France (Hetalia), France Being the Best Wingman, France May Or May Not Be A Manipulative Bastard, Gift Exchange, Let Switzerland Sleep, Liechtenstein Is the Only Sweet Bean In the Bunch, M/M, Mistletoe, One-Sided Attraction, Or Is It?, Secret Admirer, Secret Santa, Shenanigans, They're Good Friends I Swear, edelweiss, he's alway a wingman in my fics tbh, so much sass, swissaus - Freeform, swisstria, that's a lie but still, who can say really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-02-18 17:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13105194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperWeeper/pseuds/WhisperWeeper
Summary: France convinces everyone to participate in a Secret Santa gift exchange. Literally no one is happy about it.At least, that's what Austria thinks, since a certain sly Frenchman had forced him to be the one to host such a get together. Indeed, he's definitely not pleased with this turn of events.That is, until he pulls the name of his dreams out of the hat.-A gift for livia_1291~





	1. At Frost Glance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [livia_1291](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livia_1291/gifts).



> Set BEFORE the events in "May I," but still in the same universe. (I've built it up so much for myself so why not?) 
> 
> NO need to read that to understand this random fluff, though! (Fluff? Angst? Fluff.)
> 
> Also, this is a gift for the lovely livia_1291. You're so sweet, and I know you've been feeling down, so I do hope this little holiday fic will cheer you up, darling~
> 
> It's a six-parter, where lots of yummy food and dorky sweater descriptions await! Enjoy!

"This is a terrible idea."

Most of the room seemed to be in agreement. However, the Frenchman stood undeterred at the head of the long oak table.

"It'll be fun!" France egged on, waving his hands in a flourish. "When's the last time we celebrated the holidays together?"

"Now, why on Earth would we want to do such a thing?" England said, closing his binder and standing up. Several other countries followed suit and began to pack up to leave.

"I'd have to agree," Germany added, buttoning his coat. "I'm sure most of us would rather spend Christmas by ourselves." He looked down at Prussia's dozing form beside him, grimacing. He kicked his chair to wake him, and the man groaned quietly in protest. "Or with family."

France stood at a loss for a moment, opening and closing his mouth as if trying to summon the right words to him. "Where's your Christmas spirit?" That earned him a few glares from the more Christian countries around the room, but he held firm, trying to convince everyone to go along with his idea.

Austria eyed him from three seats down, drinking his mug of hot chocolate. It was the 1st of December, and the European nations were at their final meeting of the year before the holidays kicked in to keep them occupied. Most were busy enough already with preparations—the Austrian certainly was. Or, well, he planned to be very soon. The first Advent Sunday was only two days away, and he intended to help set up several _Weihnachtsmärkte_ in his capital over the course of the week, as he always did every year since the tradition started.

So there he sat, sipping the sugary drink in his hands, utterly bored with the Frenchman's attempts to get them all to break from their busy schedules.

"Oh, come on, guys. L'Autriche will be hosting!"

Austria nearly dropped the mug in his lap. All heads turned to him expectantly.

"I beg your pardon?" he voiced, setting down his hot chocolate before he really did drop it. Or throw it at a certain blond man.

"Well, I suppose if Austria is the one having it," England muttered, rubbing his chin. The Austrian's stomach sank.

"Oh, yes, then I guess it would be fine," Belgium added, helping to tie a scarf around Luxembourg's neck. "Vienna is quite beautiful this time of year, isn't it?"

 _'Naturally!'_ Austria would have snapped at her if he wasn't preoccupied with willing France to turn to dust at that exact moment. Of _course_ his capital was beautiful this time of year—it was a radiant acropolis all year round, _thank you very much._ The Jewel of Europe, decked out in lights and fragrant markets, with music and bells ringing out across the city, laughter trailing up every street. Yes, indeed, his beloved Vienna _is_ quite beautiful, and the holiday festivities and snowfall just added to its elegant charm.

But that didn't mean he intended to open his home to cater to some silly little party the Frenchman wanted to have.

The aristocrat opened his mouth to tell him exactly that, but France cut him off. "Then it's decided!"

The cheeky blond flashed him a quick smile, avoiding his gaze as he pulled out a stack of white slips of paper from his coat pocket. He grabbed his dark brown Astrakhan hat from the back of his chair and dropped the slips in, shaking the hat to mix them all up. France rounded the end of the table to stand by the doorway, holding the hat out excitedly. "Remember to only take one name, and to keep it a secret. We don't want any spoilsports, eh?"

Austria didn't know what upset him more: the fact that he was being forced to play conductor for a party he was already too busy to organize, that everyone had seemed reluctant to attend because they didn't want to be the ones hosting and were undoubtedly hesitant about France hosting, or that everybody was now eagerly rushing to pull names from the hat—as if they hadn't been arguing with the Frenchman for the past 15 minutes about his _grand_ Secret Santa idea.

The brunet just frowned into his hot chocolate, the liquid no longer able to sweeten his souring mood. Why would France not at least give him a heads up, or just _ask him_ ahead of time? He enjoyed holding events as much as the next country—perhaps a bit more, to be honest—but being caught off guard by the sudden responsibility of it all grinded on his nerves.

Austria sighed, leaning his head on his hand to watch the stream of countries file out of the room, each astutely grabbing a slip of paper out of the hat. Most were silent, looking thoughtful or confused, but some cheered or groaned. France was informing them all of the date and time, _'December 21st, 8 o'clock, for an added Winter Solstice flare,'_ and that they should all bring a dish to pass around. England ignored the nervous glances shot at him after that.

"It's just going to be a small, cozy thing," France was saying, "Just a nice evening with food and gifts."

 _As if._ Austria rolled his violet eyes. It was most definitely going to be a night full of drunken fights, with extra snark being thrown back and forth about everyone's cooking. Or, since it was the holidays, perhaps everyone would, indeed, be relatively amiable.

Not that he was going to host the damn party, anyways.

A bright flash of gold caught his eye and Austria glanced over to see Switzerland shrugging on his dark green duffel coat. The blond man was one of the few who didn't say anything during France's little escapade, and just sat in indifferent silence across the table from the Austrian. The brunet noticed the dark circles beneath his emerald eyes, and the slight crease between his brow. His chest felt a little tighter.

 _I wonder what's bothering him,_ he couldn't help but think—old habits dying _never,_ in his case. Perhaps the Swiss was pulling all-nighters again, like usual, to make sure he had several weeks off of work for the season. It was just like him to overwork himself so he could have a vacation, when in reality he could probably take one at any time.

Switzerland just ignored the mass of people behind his seat and walked off through the doorway, not sparing anyone a glance. That wasn't so unusual, but the blond normally _would_ at least say a soft _'Frohe Weihnachten'_ before leaving around this time of year. Yes, definitely tired, then.

Another blonde head snagged his attention away from the retreating form of the Swiss, and Austria looked over to see Liechtenstein standing among the crowd of larger countries. She didn't immediately follow her older brother out, and instead was trying to eagerly look around the taller nations at France's hat.

The Austrian stood then, going to make his way around the table to help the young girl out of sheer politeness, but was impressed to see her small frame squeeze in between the bigger figures of Sweden and Spain to dip her hand into the man's hat.

The aristocrat continued around the table anyways and watched as Liechtenstein reached into the hat, pausing after pulling her choice out to listen to something the Frenchman was telling her. He then handed her another slip, and a wide smile grew on the girl's cheery face before she dashed off, yelling back a sweet, "Thank you, Mr. France!" before disappearing out the door.

Austria came around the table and leaned against the solid oak while he watched the last dozen countries file out. He steeled himself, crossing his arms, preparing to give France the scolding he _oh so_ deserved once everyone had departed. He wasn't meant to catch his train back home to Vienna until morning, so he could wait.

Once everyone had grabbed a name and left, France pulled on his winter attire and made to leave, probably hoping he could outrun the Austrian's wrath. He couldn't.

"Oh, no you don't." The Frenchman tensed up as the aristocrat stepped up beside him, the brunet closing the door and effectively cutting off his escape. Austria turned to the blond man and fixed him with his most stern look. "I won't do it."

France raised his eyebrows, nervously adjusting his pink scarf. His voice pitched itself a tad higher than usual as he said, "You? Refusing to host a party?"

_"Francis."_

"Are you feeling quite well?"

Austria swatted away the man's prying hands, even more annoyance filling him at the country's feigned ignorance. After a momentary stand off, France finally conceded with a full on pout. Big eyes, shaky lip, hands clasped together—the whole shebang.

"Oh, come on," he pleaded. "Do this, and I promise I'll throw you a gala next spring."

The aristocrat ran a steady hand through his hair, exhaling in barely restrained contempt, "Why do _I_ have to host your little get-together? Why not just host it yourself?"

"Eh, who knows?" The Austrian leveled him with a frigid stare. France scratched his beard, having the decency to look sheepish. "Your banquet hall is larger than mine, and the aesthetic is better for a Christmas gathering," he mumbled the last bit almost enviously.

Austria straightened his shoulders, not willing to let the compliment make him change his mind. All the colors in France's own estate were lighter and warmer, more for springtime and summer occasions. Whereas the Austrian preferred the darker, richer colors associated with autumn and winter. And obviously his banquet hall was much larger than the Frenchman's, he wasn't a _plebeian._

Biting back a sarcastic remark that made his tongue taste bitter, the brunet just sighed. He began walking back around the table to collect his things, trying to verbalize his conviction in a way the blond man would understand, "That still doesn't mean I'm going to do it. If you had asked me a month ago, perhaps I would have accepted, but now I simply won't have the time."

He felt France right on his heels, attempting to nip at his resolve like an unpleasant puppy. "What if I did most of the organizing and you just let me use your hall for the evening?"

Austria picked up his pea coat off the back of his chair, shaking out the navy material for wrinkles before slipping it on. A bit of unease was beginning to slip through his veins at the other's blatant eagerness.

"Why is it so important to use my personal home?" he asked carefully, turning to the man with more confusion than ire now. "Vienna, my _beautiful_ city, has plenty of halls open to reservations, or you could just use your own estate. I'm sure the others won't harp on you too hard for your pastel Baroque color scheme not matching the holiday palette." _England would, most definitely._

"Where's your seasonal giving attitude? This can count as my Christmas present."

"I don't usually send you gifts, regardless."

France looked almost desperate before he suddenly blinked, and a slow, wicked grin began to morph his face. The blond lifted his hat up once more, only this time he deposited another piece of paper inside from his sleeve. His voice purred out a little more sultry than before, "I'll make you a deal."

Austria knew he shouldn't take the bait, no matter what it was. There simply wasn't any time that he could spend on such ridiculousness. It was just sheer curiosity that made him reach into that wool Astrakhan, and not any sense of future commitment to whatever promise was printed on that slip of paper. The fact that it was the only piece of parchment inside tipped him off that this was the Frenchman's one play against him, but it didn't give away what it could possibly be.

He looked at the paper in his grip, unfolding it before he could stop himself. A heavy lump caught in his throat.

The Austrian stared at the name printed across the slip of paper, then up to France's wolfish grin, before glaring back down at the name.

_Of course._

**...xXx...**

The Secret Santa banquet was only two days away and France had kept true to his word, arranging nearly everything himself. He'd hired a crew of people to work in the Austrian's main manor, to prepare for the upcoming dinner. Guest rooms were aired out, the palace kitchen was filled to the brim with alcohol and ingredients, and the opulent hall was laid with tables and decorations. Even a Christmas tree was brought in, at France's request, to highlight the back of the room beside the grand fireplace. The blond man helped direct the workers and even, _surprisingly,_ paid for everything. It really did seem like the Frenchman just wanted to utilize his room for the event, nothing more.

Austria had spent the last few weeks assisting with the markets, sorting out the year's final documents, and attending political and seasonal events. His home life had been peaceful, uneventful even in the opposite wing of the palace, aside from his occasional trips to the markets to pick up his favorite holiday treats.

Yet, dread had plagued him nearly the entire month.

It shouldn't have gotten to him so easily, but he wasn't used to being blindsided by France, of all people. Nor was he used to being at the Frenchman's mercy simply because he knew the Austrian's little secret.

Austria didn't initially intend to get _him_ a present. They didn't give gifts to each other anymore, and to start up again now would be nonsensical. Not to mention, there was no chance of his own name being drawn by the other, so they wouldn't even be _exchanging_ gifts. However, the thought of the man going through all the trouble to participate in the Secret Santa, and even coming to stay at the aristocrat's home for the event, then to be the only one stunted, without a present—

Well, how could the Austrian be so cruel? It was just the most sensible thing to do, to follow through on the promise drawing _that_ name gave him.

Now, though, every time he was out at the markets or window shopping, he would see something that would make him think, _Oh, he would like that._ Then he would have to swallow down the heat in his stomach as he sped away, both from embarrassment and wistful fondness. He couldn't even walk down his own _Kärntner Strasse_ without the usual hollowness in his heart nagging at him ten times more than usual.

It wasn't like he needed reminding, this time of year of all times, of just how _lonely_ he was.

Making his way along the salt covered sidewalks, the brunet slipped through several groups of people crowded around the storefronts. He could hear a small choir of carolers stationed at the end of the way singing various tunes, currently crooning a lovely version of _Silver Bells._ The waves of pedestrian shoppers had only increased the past few days, from eager tourists to mad dashers looking for last minute gifts.

The bags of spices and wine weighed pleasantly in his arms as he sidestepped a frantic couple sprinting into the confectionery on his right, and he was looking forward to returning home and making his favorite holiday drink.

Austria indulged himself and gazed freely along the line of glowing display fronts as he walked along a particularly empty part of the street. Vibrant white lights illuminated a plethora of toys and clothes and food all along the street, and the brunet allowed himself a small smile. No matter how many years went by, he would never get tired of seeing just how happy a bright market atmosphere could make his people, or the tourists who kindly decided to spend their Christmastime visiting his delightful home.

Strolling like this through the snow swirling in front of his nose, with the gentle voices of passersby and carolers blooming all around him, he could just about forget all of his woes. He slowed in front of a bustling crafts store, eyeing the sparkling ribbons and threads out on display. Blues, silvers, golds . . .

A particularly rich shade of green wool yarn caught his eye, and the wintry air caught in his throat. It was so vividly hued, it was practically glowing despite the coarse texture. A handful of darker and lighter shades of green surrounded it, but the yarn still shone the brightest.

A glimpse of something else to the left helped him to tear his gaze away, spotting a round basket full of a red pile of mohair hanks. The color right on top was an intense cardinal—both dark and bright at the same time, standing out like cherry sauce poured over a slice of cheesecake.

Austria found his fingers twitching as he glanced between the brilliant shades. His eye lingered on the deep emerald wool.

If he were to purchase several skeins of that gem-like color, well, who could really blame him?

**...xXx...**

All in all, once he finally returned back to his estate, the aristocrat's arms and car were laden with more than just wine. Austria figured he might as well get a few more gifts for some of the others, seeing as how he would now see them sooner than after the New Year. He, Hungary, Italy, Germany, and Prussia had planned to get together in early January to spend a week of holidays together, but since they were going to see one another a bit sooner the brunet figured he might as well stock up on their gifts now.

 _I wonder if Liz will dress up as Krampus again this year,_ he briefly thought. The naïve Italian always fell for the trick, even if the woman usually fell out of character quite quickly to coddle the brunet man.

This Christmas, though, he would spend alone. Just like he had for little over a decade now.

The Austrian tried to ignore the sounds of cooking coming from his personal kitchen, and just focused on lugging his bags through the foyer. A blond head swiftly poked out from behind his stained glass wall divider as he was sneaking down the hallway, ruining his hopes for a quiet retreat up to his room. _Right._ He had a certain Frenchman staying with him for the past week.

"Welcome back," France said, stepping over to him. He perked up as he looked over Austria's haul. "I thought you went out to get wine."

"I did," the brunet huffed, smacking away the man's hand as he tried to look in a bag. "No peeking." Austria paused a moment, then straightened up and held out his left arm that was laden with bags. The least the other could do would be to help him get all his things upstairs.

Blue eyes crinkled in amusement as the Frenchman relieved him of several bags and dutifully followed him through the living room. "Oh? Did you get me a present?"

"Why would I buy you a gift?"

"Since I'm helping you out this season?"

"Think again."

"Because I'm so irresistible?"

_"Ha!"_

"You're secretly hot and gooey under that icy, _sexy_ exterior?"

Austria snorted, imagining pushing the smug blond down the stairs. He couldn't suffer another moment of the man's incessant giggling, he had actual _work_ to do. Everything was bought and calculated, and now all he had to do was put it all together. He only had two nights, however, and the brunet was mentally kicking himself for procrastinating.

 _What if I can't finish his gift in time?_ The Austrian sobered slightly as he set his bags on the bed. An even scarier thought trickled into the forefront of his mind then, unbidden. _What if he hates it?_

"Do we have to put our name on the gift?" he asked lightly. Austria stared evenly at his companion, unwilling to let the man see just how nervous his little winter escapade was making him.

France glanced up from where he was carefully laying down the paper bags across the comforter, raising an eyebrow. The aristocrat hated that he was giving him a _look;_ like he knew exactly why he was asking such a thing. He probably did, but that didn't matter to the Austrian. He just needed to know.

"You can," the Frenchman said slowly, tightening the ribbon holding back his wavy hair from his face. "If you wish. The others are allowed to let their pick know it was them, but I was going to have everyone wait to pass out their gifts until after dinner."

Austria tugged off his gloves, not paying attention to the sunken feeling in his chest. "I suppose."

The blond looked thoughtful for a moment. "We could have everyone put their gifts under the tree, and then you and I pass them out afterword? That way those who want to stay anonymous can. I also have a special gift lottery for everyone to participate in, and some extra presents in case someone is left without a gift."

"Perhaps that could work." _Perhaps it would._ There wasn't much else to be done about it, though he was going to make sure France was the one to hand over his gift. Even if the man insisted on teasing him about his crush, he could also count on the Frenchman's discretion. He'd kept his secret for years now, after all, the only one in his life privy to such a revelation.

France was nothing if not honorable when it came to matters of the heart.

For the moment, though, he would make sure that the blond man would make himself useful for a second time that evening— _honestly,_ he was just standing there—and so Austria instructed him to hold out his arms so he could unwind all the hanks of yarn he'd bought.

**...xXx...**

"He's not going to come."

"He'll come."

"He won't," Austria insisted. He threw down the knitting needles in his lap, rubbing his eyes tiredly from beneath his glasses.

A puff of laughter from the sofa across from him made his teeth grind. "Why are you so sure he won't come?"

"He hates it here."

"You're being too pessimistic, mon souris," France cooed as he added tape to fold the wrapping paper he was working with. "He'll be here."

Austria hated that the Frenchman was coddling him. He hated that he _needed_ coddling. It was already _2 o'clock_ in the morning, and his nerves were beyond fried after hours of worrying in silence.

"How do you know that he'll show up?" he pressed, unable to just get over it. "How can you be so _sure?"_

Pacific blue eyes rose to meet restless violet with nothing but compassion.

"It's Christmas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Weihnachtsmärkte_ \- Christmas markets  
>  _L'Autriche_ \- Austria  
>  _Frohe Weihnachten_ \- Merry Christmas  
>  _Kärntner Strasse_ \- Carinthian Street, the most famous shopping street in central Vienna  
>  _Mon souris_ \- My mouse (a cute nickname France calls Austria in my fics)  
>  Behold: A holiday fic that's WAY too late, and that ZERO people asked for! \\(owo)/
> 
> I hope you all are enjoying so far! More shenanigans to begin soon~


	2. Breaking the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party begins, and Austria welcomes his guests the best way he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am realizing that I don't do too many one-shots anymore because I simply make them too goddamn long...

_December 21st, 7:45pm._

Everything was set up in pristine order. France had went the extra mile and had the Grand Hall of the Austrian's palace adorned with dazzling holiday decorations to welcome their guests in proper exquisite fashion.

Bright lights were wound around the banisters outside to illuminate the steps to the entrance from the gravel driveway. The two halves of the curling main staircase were quilted with a royal blue and gold threaded carpet, softening the pale marble flooring all the way from the front doors up to the second floor hallway. Three large white banners were hung over the center of the second floor banister, effectively blocking off the threshold to the ballroom, and all the while adding to the elegant holiday air.

The spacious banquet hall was through a door to the right of the entrance, spanning along the front windows. Dark red, gold, and white drapery filled the room; over the windows and pinned to the high, carved marble ceiling in a great starburst of alternating colors—looking akin to a massive peppermint. Half a dozen lounges lined the walls and sat beneath the windows. Two columns of round tables were arranged along either side of the room, draped with red, poinsettia embroidered tablecloths. The centerpieces were little gold wreaths with candles in the middle, and festive china dishes and crystal glasses were set out.

Austria had nearly forgot what it was like having dozens of servants running around his home, to and fro, fixing this, adjusting that, fetching whatever was necessary. Living alone the past century had definitely made him appreciate all the hard work it took to run such a large event, something he'd admittedly taken advantage of in the past. He wouldn't say it to his face, but he was grateful that France had taken charge to organize everything.

However, once all the decorations had been laid out and strung up, the Austrian and Frenchman were left on their own to host and handle everything else.

Most of the back wall of the room was a massive fireplace, angel and fleur patterns carved into the marble and ivory fixtures. To the right of the roaring fire—at a safe distance—was a 15 foot pine tree. White lights and garland wrapped around the fat fir, with electric candles and bows. He and France had spent the other night making _Windbäckerei_ to hang on the branches; petite meringue treats in the shape of wreaths, candy canes, and snowflakes were hung with thin gold ribbons for their guests to eat at their leisure, if they desired.

Down the center of the room, between the rows of placements, were four long buffet tables filled with food and alcohol. Various meats and sauces, pasta and potatoes, salads and dipping trays were laid out along the middle table, covered in foil to stay fresh.

One end table was filled with holiday appropriate alcohols. Wine, schnapps, rum; anything that any of the nations attending could desire. The Austrian himself had made a generous amount of _Glühwein_ with the spices and bottles of _Cabernet Franc_ he'd bought the other afternoon, and kept it hot in a lidded punch bowl and pitchers.

The next buffet table was encumbered with desserts. _Oh,_ the desserts. Austria hadn't baked so many sweets in ages and he was ashamed at that fact. Cakes, pies, puddings, torte, cookies, strudel . . . Ah, his kitchen had smelled of sugars and dough for days, and he suspected it would for some time to come. And admittedly, it had been rather _enjoyable_ to cook with France again. He couldn't even remember when they'd last worked in a kitchen together, but both of them had fell into an easy, familiar rhythm.

And the last table was left empty, ready to receive the dishes being brought by their guests. Thankfully, all the nations who were bringing food had called ahead to let them know, so France had made sure to have plenty of room to put them.

Austria did see the Frenchman attempting to covertly add a few tufts of mistletoe around the room. He would make sure to avoid those spots.

The first countries started trickling in just after _7 o'clock._ The Austrian stood at the door to greet everyone, helping them with their coats and bags, before France would direct them into the banquet hall. Most were bundled up snugly against the heavy snowfall, arms full of presents and food. Most had brought overnight bags, expecting to stay through the storm or to wait out their inevitable hangovers. He directed them to pick out any of the rooms on the second floor, knowing he had plenty of space for everyone, if need be.

The aristocrat knew that the Frenchman had deigned the event casual, but he was satisfied to see that a few of his patrons had still dressed up in formal attire. Slacks, thick polos, and jumpers were the most he could hope for, after all, and were the majority of clothing. Sweaters were the most popular, and some nations wore 'ugly' versions with ribbons and bells and sayings full of holiday puns.

England was wearing a green jumper with _'Stuff the Turkey, I'm Off to the Pub'_ on it, with the _'u'_ in _'pub'_ replaced with a beer mug. Russia had a sweater vest with the very appropriate _'Filled With Christmas Spirits, Particularly Vodka'_ written across it. Spain had a pattern of llamas with scarves on his, and Holland had a picture of a deer wearing a Christmas sweater on the front of his own.

 _Really, some of them would wear anything,_ he thought.

The Austrian hadn't even bothered to hide is eye roll when he'd spotted Prussia's red sweater with _'BEER BEER BEER'_ wrapped around his torso in blocky white letters. However, he couldn't quite bite back his smile at Germany's own jumper that had _'REGIFT'_ written across the front.

Out of all the countries gathered the Nordics had exceeded his expectations. All of them had showed up in hefty lopi sweaters that were way too big for them in varying shades of white, greys, reds, and blues. Finland, especially, was wearing the biggest damn sweater he'd ever seen—from underneath his chin down to his calves, the fuzzy red and white material looked like it was trying to eat him.

Anything to keep warm in the raging Alpine weather, he supposed.

Austria himself had decided to wear slim fitting, black wool slacks, a white dress shirt, and diamond cufflinks. Over it he had a navy knitted pullover, with a V-neck turtleneck, and a white snowflake pattern across the front. His Oxfords were polished, brunet hair neatly smoothed back, and despite dressing more _casual_ than he usually would for such an event, he still felt classy.

France was wearing skinny white slacks and dress boots, a flashy metallic rose colored dress shirt, and a white fuzzy V-neck sweater over top, with tiny silver snowflakes falling in a pattern from the collar down. Blond hair fell in luxurious waves to frame his bright blue eyes, and he was wearing a white hairband with little reindeer antlers and ears, a silver bell hanging from the tip of each. It was both utterly _ludicrous_ and endearing.

At least the Italian brothers had also spruced up—striding into his hall in identical burgundy and golden suits. Their dark fur coats were dusted with snow and the twins shivered heavily from the cold. The aristocrat regretted his winter weather for the first time as Italy quickly ran over to him and hugged him tightly, shedding melting snow all over him.

Italy mushed his frigid cheek against his in his usual greeting and whined in his ear, "Austria! It's _so_ cold, ve! My bones feel like ice!"

"Take off your coat, then," Austria grunted, managing to pull the Italian off him after returning his embrace. He dusted himself off and reached up to fix some stray curls that had fell over the other's forehead, glancing at the equally frozen Lovino. The Southern Italian hovered a few feet away, despite sort of looking like he also wanted to attack the Austrian for warmth. "I'll fetch you two some blankets and you can sit by the fire."

Both men physically slumped with relief, though they were very reluctant to part with their coats and scarves before being allowed beyond the foyer. Italy had little bags hanging off his arms and his brother held a pot of savory smelling spaghetti with clam sauce. Austria took the dish and gifts from them as they took off their winter attire.

France was busy filling out names to put in the raffle bowl, so the blond only called a quick hello to the Italian arrivals, albeit with blown kisses and winks. The aristocrat soon had the two brunets sat with thick wool blankets in front of the hearth, each with a glass of hot wine in their hands and bellies, and the pot of spaghetti on the buffet table, before returning to his post by the door.

It was getting close to dinner time, and most everyone who was invited had already arrived. There were still a handful of countries yet to arrive, but they were still expected from their RSVPs. The Austrian stayed dutifully by the window to watch the driveway for stragglers, making sure they got in from the blizzard in one piece.

Austria was also indulging himself with a glass of mulled wine, savoring the spiced burn the hot liquid sent down his throat. His finger tapped the chilly windowsill almost without his knowledge—the only giveaway to his underlying uneasiness.

Everything was going smoothly so far, a Christmas miracle to be sure, but he could feel the lingering exhaustion in the ache of his limbs.

He'd barely slept the night before, staying up until _4am_ knitting. The brunet managed to get everything finished, including making a few extra things, and he was proud of himself for it considering he hadn't made clothing in quite some time. Then he'd gotten up around _8am_ to help France with some last minute cooking, so needless to say he was worn out before the day had even begun. He had no idea how his French companion could be so chipper, as he undoubtedly got even less sleep than the Austrian.

His wrists ached immensely from two full days of nonstop knitting, but he still lifted his glass up for another drink to calm the shaking.

Austria spotted Hungary coming up the salted steps, snow blowing and catching in her curled toffee locks, and rushed out into the cold to welcome her. He was happy to see her, and hoped she would stay by his side most the evening to help him with his nerves.

He took her suitcase and quickly ushered her indoors, kissing her cheek. "Glad you could make it. How are you, my dear?"

"Good. _Starving,"_ the woman replied, flashing him a smile. The Austrian helped her slide out of her parka and scarf, hanging them up on the many hooks available. "Boldog Karácsonyt, Roderich. Look at you, all dolled up tonight."

"Frohe Weihnachten. You look beautiful." And she did.

The Hungarian was one of the few who dressed up formally, wearing a ruffled, long sleeved princess cut dress in a stunning dark green velvet. A matching ribbon tied the end of her curls over her right shoulder, and a rivière wreath of diamonds and jade encircled her neck. Dangling diamond earrings pinned her earlobes, and a matching jeweled brooch rested over her heart.

"Thank you." Hungary's smile sweetened, and she leaned up to return his cheek kiss. Warm vanilla perfume tickled his nose as she leaned a hand on his arm to steady herself, switching out of her snow boots and into some pretty silver sandals.

It was good that she had decided to come. Austria remembered listening to her rant after the name drawing, seeing as how she'd picked Romania from the hat. He'd been positive that the woman wouldn't come, or, _"Get the prick anything that wasn't a boot up the ass,"_ as she had so eloquently put it. So, getting her phone call a few days ago letting him know that she would attend was a God-given relief.

He'd rather not be alone in giving a gift to someone who hated him.

The Austrian traded her bag for the two small presents she held and left her to go upstairs and pick out a room. It seemed he would have a full home for the first time in a long time, and it felt . . . _nice._ Maybe that was just the wine talking.

 _Doubtful._ The brunet huffed at his own thoughts. _I'm anything but a lightweight._

"Francis, here's some more gifts," Austria called out, summoning the Frenchman from across the Great Hall.

The stack of presents was ever growing beneath the tree, and it was kind of impressive that everybody had kept their word to participate. Spotting the tags on the two boxes in his hand, his chest grew warm at the sight of his own name on one of them.

"Was that Hungary who just arrived?" France asked, bells jingling as he joined him. "She looks _très beau."_

"She's such a darling," the brunet was murmuring. He handed the man the little boxes. "I have to go get something from my room, so watch the door."

"Oui, oui." France shooed him away, and Austria ascended the grand staircase.

The walk down the hall took longer than he thought, despite him quickening his pace, and it was easy to forget just how large his home was since he no longer resided in the main palace. A more modern aside had been built on the end of the Eastern Wing, with all the comforts of a normal home in a smaller, more manageable space. Coming up on the door separating the second floors of each section, the aristocrat pushed through it and was greeted with the transition from marble and ivory to dark hardwood and wallpaper.

Austria entered the first door on his right and grabbed several of the neatly wrapped presents on his mirrored dresser. He was grateful to his earlier self for having thought to wrap some of the others' gifts just in case they wanted to do an exchange during the party. It wouldn't do to get and not give, and it was much better to be generous for the holidays than to be stuffed with straw and pebbles by Perchta in retribution.

Treading out into the hallway, the Austrian was about to make his way back to the Great Hall when the melodic chimes of his doorbell rang. He automatically adjusted his course and headed downstairs.

 _How odd._ All their guests knew that the banquet was taking place in the main palace, and it wasn't as if his driveway was impossible to navigate. His home was also too far removed from town for carolers, as it was on its own valley rise, so who could it be?

Feeling unwelcome anxiety edging its way into his gut the closer he got to the front door, Austria steadied himself.

The lights were turned down low in this part of his home, only a few nightlights and lamps accompanying the gentle glow of the living room fire place. The low light gave a simultaneous comforting and eerie air to the spacious home. The doorbell rang twice more before he got to the front door, in quick succession.

The musician called out a loud, "Hold on just a moment!" since there was only so fast he could walk. Reaching the doorway, he flipped on the porch light quickly before throwing open the door. "Who on Earth—"

Standing close to the threshold, huddling against the wind and snow whipping just across the porch, were the two countries he had been expecting the least.

_He came._

"Switzerland." Austria exhaled the nerves on his tongue, breath visible just through the door. Violet eyes glanced from the country to the smaller figure beside him. "Miss Liechtenstein. Oh my, come in, come in! You two must be half frozen." His manners suddenly came back to him and he rushed the pair inside, shutting the door firmly against the snow storm.

"We're not late, are we?" the girl piped up, words sounding worried and muffled through her scarf.

"Right on time," he said, peeking at his watch. _7:52pm._

Both countries visibly relaxed. The two set their bags down to the side and began to take their thick winter clothing off. Austria was surprised enough to see two suitcases along with their neatly wrapped gifts. He'd been beyond positive that the Swiss wouldn't wish to spend the evening at his home, let alone stay the night.

 _He's here,_ his mind whispered incessantly. _He really came._

"You're lucky I was in my bedroom," Austria found himself muttering. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have heard the doorbell. You _were_ told the party was going to be in the banquet hall, right?" If not, he would have a certain Frenchman to scold.

"Of course we were told," Switzerland snapped. Green eyes widened almost in surprise at his own outburst, and the blond softened his stance, staring at the floor between them. "Your driveway is full of cars, so I had to park in the turnaround. I figured we'd try this door before walking all the way around."

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing you did," the brunet conceded, adjusting his glasses. He paused. A quiver of unwarranted earnestness wound around his ribs, and before he could stop his traitorous tongue he was saying, "I'm glad you could make it."

The Swiss twitched, almost imperceptibly, and unwound his scarf. A delightful pink dusted his cheeks in the ambient lighting as the man gave a curt nod.

"Oh!" Liechtenstein perked up then, clapping her gloved hands together. "Frohe Weihnachten, Herr Österreich!"

Startled a bit by the sudden cheery outburst, Austria quickly corrected himself and gave the girl a shallow bow, returning the sentiment. Switzerland added his own soft holiday greeting, out of necessity for the moment. It still felt unreal to him that the two countries were even there at all. He did notice, however, that the only one holding a wrapped gift was Liechtenstein.

 _Right. He didn't pick a name,_ the brunet thought.

Then he grimaced slightly, remembering that France had handed Liechtenstein an extra name slip.

As the pair unbuttoned their coats, the Austrian decided to put it from his mind and made himself useful by fetching a towel for them to wipe off their snowy feet. He was allowing his patrons to keep their shoes on, of course, and it wouldn't do to have them tracking mud and snow all through his house.

When he returned with the cloth he was amused to see the two in matching outfits, for the most part.

Liechtenstein was wearing a white tea-length dress that had red reindeer running along the bottom all the way around the skirt, and peppermint stockings with red slippers. Over her top, though, she was sporting a fuzzy red sweater that had the white words, _'Oh Deer,'_ bubbled across it. In place of her usual purple hair ribbon was a red and white striped one, to match her stockings.

Switzerland was—

_Honey-colored locks shimmered in the soft lighting, emerald eyes flashing a vibrant orange from the glow of the nearby fireplace._

_Ah._ There his unwanted affection was again. Gnawing at him like a ravenous worm. Austria cleared his throat of the distasteful feeling. He handed the man the towel, and distracted himself by stepping back to take in the other's outfit.

The Swiss was dressed similarly to his little sister, but inverted. He sported slim red jeans and white boots, and his pale sweater was equally as fluffy with the bust of a red reindeer on the front. A familiar silver cross necklace rested over his heart, over the deer's head. Most surprisingly, he had a peppermint hairband sitting atop his blond head. No doubt coerced by the young girl to wear it to match her ribbon.

 _Lovely._ Austria wanted to flutter his hands at the tingle rising up his spine. They both even smelled of wintergreen. He settled for strangling the straps of the gift bags he held. _So lovely._

It took him a moment to realize he was being spoken to. "Pardon?"

"I asked if there were any guest rooms left," Liechtenstein repeatedly kindly, carefully wiping the ice off her slippers. Her expression was one of worry once she straightened up. "The weatherman said this blizzard is supposed to last through the weekend."

"All flights are cancelled until further notice," Switzerland continued as he hung up both of their coats. "We don't want to intrude."

Austria blinked, and blinked again. He took in the way the blond man was avoiding his gaze, his gruff voice sounding slightly flustered. Glancing at the prepared suitcases, the heat bloomed even more in his chest. _They were already expecting to stay._

"Intrude?" he spoke up finally, stepping forward to politely grab Liechtenstein's bag. "Hardly. You may take any of the rooms upstairs, or there's still a few vacant in the main palace, if you please."

"Here is fine."

Austria let the butterflies simmer in his abdomen as he lead the pair through his living room and up the stairs to the second floor. He let them pick from any of the rooms across from his, eyeing the gift in Liechtenstein's arms as they waited for the Swiss to place their bags down.

The girl caught his eye and gave a grin, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, "I got Miss Ukraine!"

"Oh, really?"

He knew the younger girl was good friends with the woman, the two of them getting together with Hungary whenever they could. The smaller country was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing up and down in her slippers. The Austrian felt his mood begin to mellow out, her enthusiasm infectious. The box she held was almost too big for her arms and was wrapped in a shiny sky blue paper, with a squiggly white bow hanging off the side.

"It's supposed to be a secret, I know," Liechtenstein went on, blowing a yellow hair out of her face. "But I really hope she likes it."

"I'm sure she will," he assured. He glanced up at Switzerland as the man left his chosen room, and he was surprised to see a gift in his hand. The man tried to keep the bag hidden behind his leg; more than likely embarrassed about participating in the Secret Santa, since he tended not to get involved with the other countries much outside of work. Austria averted his gaze, not wanting to pry.

 _So he did decide to take part._ The brunet nodded to himself, grateful that they wouldn't have someone left without a gift. Though, France _had_ prepared for that, with the extra gifts for the lottery.

He ignored the small stab of jealousy that stung his heart for whoever was going to receive the Swiss' present. He pushed the thought away as soon as it came, feeling ridiculous.

As if he _cared_ about such a foolish thing.

_You do care, you imbecilic oaf. Ugh._

"Here." Austria felt his stomach nearly flip upside down before he realized that Switzerland wasn't speaking to him. The blond man lifted a tiny white bag in his other hand that he didn't even spot before and handed it to his sister.

Liechtenstein went, "Oh, I nearly forgot!" and eagerly traded the bag for her larger present, the Swiss hefting it up under his arm.

Once he made sure the two countries had everything they needed, and that he had his own gifts still in hand, Austria then led them to the other side of the palace.

**...xXx...**

Hushed holiday music swam through the air of the banquet hall, a peaceful undercurrent to the light conversations bubbling around the room.

"Suisse!" France called out excitedly, jogging over to them. His cheeks were looking a little flushed, the country having gotten an early start on the selection of wines available. Switzerland accepted the man's sappy _Faire la bise_ greeting rather calmly, all things considered. "Joyeux Noël, mon ami!"

"Joyeux Noël." The Swiss looked a little awkward among the crowd of nations, shrugging with the box under his arm. "Where are we putting the gifts?"

"Ah, this way!" France took the presents in the Austrian's outstretched hand as an afterthought before leading the way towards the Christmas tree.

As they walked off across the hall, Austria spotted Liechtenstein staring around the room, mouth open a little in a look of awe.

"You and Mr. France set all this up?" she chirped.

"We hired some help," he said honestly, gesturing to the drapery, "but yes. We made most of the food, and the Windbäckerei."

The girl took several steps towards the tree before stopping, looking a little shy as she turned back to him. "May I have one?" she asked hopefully.

Austria held out his arm for her to take and escorted the girl towards the treats. "Of course. Just make sure not to spoil your appetite."

It was nice to interact with the little country, outside of their everyday. They didn't get to speak much to each other about frivolous things, on account of, _well,_ her brother. The Austrian liked to try and take the pair out for lunch sometimes after meetings, if the Swiss allowed, just to be courteous and catch up on some little things. The past couple of decades had been quite amicable between the three of them, even if there was still a layer of thorns just beneath the surface.

Austria knew that things would never go back to the way that they were between the Swiss and him, but he was _grateful_ that the other was tolerant enough to put up with him on occasion.

Liechtenstein tugged his sleeve slightly as they reached the tree, stopping a few yards away from where France and Switzerland were trying to stack the gifts better.

"This is for you, by the way." The smaller country handed him the tiny white bag, and then eagerly grabbed one of the meringue wreaths off of the tree. At the aristocrat's shocked look, she gave him a gracious smile while peeking through the hole of the wreath. "To thank you for inviting us. Brother picked it out."

Austria was already blown away that he was getting a gift from the pair at all, let alone something that _Switzerland_ had picked it out. He gingerly moved aside the tissue paper, willing his heartbeat to quiet down because _surely_ everyone could hear the rambunctious organ, and pulled out the object inside.

About the size of his hand, with a silver ribbon, was a treble clef ornament made of glass. It was frosted on the bottom in a curling snowflake pattern, and reflected the glittering light from the hearth in waves across the surface.

It was very beautiful. _Oh dear._ He was just staring. The Austrian broke himself out of his daze, and immediately moved to hang it on the branch made vacant by the meringue Liechtenstein was eating.

"Thank you," he said finally, looking back to the girl, who was halfway done with her wreath already. Liechtenstein trilled a delighted welcome, and Austria couldn't help but glance at the Swiss a few meters away. The man stood alone now at the stack of gifts between the tree and wall, adjusting the tower of presents so they sat more safely. His neat blond hair was lit ablaze in golden firelight, just like earlier, just like the ornament.

_Beautiful._

**...xXx...**

The last few countries had eventually arrived safely through the winter storm—Spain and Portugal had particularly loud complaints about the weather, but were otherwise happy to make it in time for dinner.

Which went smoothly, as everyone was excited to try all the delectable looking dishes and desserts. Everybody was welcome to pick out whatever they liked, and the Austrian saw several countries rushing for the large spread of fish. He was grateful that it was a Thursday so he wouldn't be breaking his fast, but he still made sure to go for the carp for the main course—his favorite this time of year. He would cheat a little when it came time for desserts.

And enjoy the desserts he did. Austria took a little sliver of several of them; apple strudel, Sachertorte, black forest gateau, and even some of the pumpkin mousse trifle cake that England had brought. Some of the others took note and had grabbed scoops of it, as well—apparently deeming it 'safe' enough to eat if the Austrian was going for it. The Englishman had given him a grateful look, which was wholly unnecessary. It's not like someone could possibly mess up something as _simple_ as trifle cake.

All in all, the meal was filling and delicious. Everyone had been eager to try each others' dishes, and some just wished to pack away as much food as physically possible. Austria deemed the Christmas dinner a success.

Though, _certain someones_ had arranged for him and Switzerland to sit beside each other.

There were five seats to every table, and he and France had claimed the one on the far left, seated to face the rest of the room. The Frenchman and Hungary were already sat beside one another when Austria had first returned from the buffet tables, engrossed in some frivolous topic. Liechtenstein sat on the other side of the Hungarian woman, piping up in the conversation between bites of duck. The brunet lamented briefly about not getting to sit next to Hungary, but acquiesced and took the open seat beside France.

The only open chair left was the one between him and Liechtenstein, and he'd be _damned_ to admit that the nerves along his right arm lit up like fireworks when the Swiss man sat down in it, their hands brushing momentarily. Thankfully, he'd thought ahead and brought a pitcher of _Glühwein_ to the table.

If it was going to be the longest night of the year, he was going to need all the alcohol he could get.

The Austrian went rigid, drawing the attention of the blond on his left. France glanced at him and gave a low chuckle, leaning in to whisper luridly, "Allégez, ma chérie. You're positively frozen." He kicked the Frenchman's foot.

Austria took back the thought that France could ever be honorable about anything.

Despite his electrified awareness of the other's proximity, eating their meals had passed without a hitch. At one point, Switzerland even _spoke_ to him. _Just him._ Quiet enough to go unnoticed by the rest of the table.

"How did you two find the time to do all this?" the blond muttered, finishing the rest of his own wine. He reached for the pitcher and topped off his glass.

"It was mostly France," the Austrian said, taking a careful sip from his own goblet. "I was busy with the markets and conferences all month. He came over about a week ago and hired some help to set everything up. I assisted with the tree and food, though." He glanced over to the newest addition on said tree. "Thank you, by the way, for the ornament. I quite like it."

He couldn't help his thought of, _And I hope you'll like my gift, too._

Switzerland nodded, grunting into the mouth of his glass before taking another drink. That turned into him downing the whole cup in one go and reaching for more yet again, this time adding a cinnamon stick to it.

Austria quirked a brow at the Swiss' zealous drinking. He'd been trying to avoid looking directly at the man while speaking—not to mention, he was a little peeved at having to turn his head to look at the blond, instead of secretly stealing glances from across the table like he was accustomed to—but now that he was close enough to feel the other's heat, he definitely noticed the heavy dark circles beneath those usually vibrant green eyes. Eyes that were now sort of glazed with the beginnings of intoxication and drowsiness.

The brunet could tell just by his posture that the man could be close to falling asleep soon, if he wanted to.

"How was your December?" Austria asked softly, rubbing his sore wrists as he rested back in his seat to give the other his full attention. He was happy enough they were having a normal conversation for once, instead of their expected disaffection. "Tedious as usual?"

Switzerland actually rumbled a small laugh. He closed his eyes as his mouth hovered over the lip of his glass, murmuring, "You have no idea," before taking a swig. His expression twisted at the added spice and the blond leaned back in his chair as he finally set his drink down.

Austria felt his pulse skyrocket when the Swiss leaned towards him, loose-tongued now from tiredness or wine, and whispered, "I've been working eighteen hour days all month, even weekends." He tilted back and focused his intense emerald stare on the Austrian, tilting his head. "Until today. _Lucky,_ that."

The brunet could swear his cheeks must have been glowing as hot as the fireplace when Switzerland looked him over, from hair to toe, gaze open and not filled with its usual displeasure whenever he looked at him. Then those emeralds fixed him with an undiscernible stare.

The Austrian swallowed roughly, the air between them thick with the scent of wine and sweets.

"Why did you have to work so hard?" he only just managed.

Switzerland's eyebrows raised. He looked unimpressed, as if he'd expected the Austrian to already know the answer. "Well," the blond began slowly, finally breaking his gaze away to stare at the pudding on his plate, squinting. "I wanted some extra time off after Christmas. Plus, there was plenty of work to do that no one else wanted to be bothered with. What with the holidays and all."

"Extra time?"

"January. I have the whole month off." The blond's shoulders sagged, weary. He lifted his chin and closed his eyes, mumbling faintly, "It'll be the first real break I've had in years."

"Good." Austria couldn't help but grimace at the reminder that the Swiss rarely took a day off. "You've certainly earned it."

Switzerland hummed in what could have been agreement before going silent. The both of them soon returned to their food, unsure now what to do with the companionable peace between them. Austria refilled his goblet with a scarcely-there tremble in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Windbäckerei_ \- Wind bakery (edible meringue Christmas tree decorations)  
>  _Glühwein_ \- Glowing wine (hot/warm red wine spiced with cloves, cinnamon, star anise, citrus, and sugar, sometimes vanilla, same with shots of rum)  
>  _Boldog Karácsonyt_ \- Merry Christmas  
>  _Très beau_ \- Very beautiful  
>  _Oui, oui_ \- Yes, yes  
>  _Herr Österreich_ \- Mr. Austria  
>  _Faire la bise_ \- French kisses on the cheek, a greeting  
>  _Joyeux Noël, mon ami!_ \- Merry Christmas, my friend!  
>  _Allégez, ma chérie_ \- Lighten up, darling
> 
> YOU ALL MUST GOOGLE LOPI SWEATERS DO IT NOW
> 
> And a lot of the sweaters I described actually exist and I need them all in my life.


	3. Under the Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some couples end up paying the hidden price, and Austria's got it bad.

The first victims were claimed just after dessert.

Several groups of countries were mingling around the room, standing beside the various drapery and lights and sitting on the lounges in the little alcoves along the inner wall of the room. Leaning against the wall, next to one of the alcoves, were Poland and Lithuania, chatting with the table of Baltics beside them.

France stood up so fast his chair nearly tipped over, startling the rest of the nations at his table. The blond man gave a giddy shout to the pair, "Hey! You lucky birds might want to look up!"

The noise died down around the room as everyone turned to see what was going on. Austria already knew what was going to happen and just sighed, lazily stirring his fourth glass of mulled wine with a cinnamon stick. _He'll go to any lengths to mess with others._

Lithuania was hiding his scarlet face in his hands, sputtering something unintelligible, and Poland just went still, staring straight up at the overhanging cluster of berries perched directly above them with wide, wide eyes. A trail of laughter carried around the room, and some voices popped up egging them on to just smooch already. Even Austria glanced up from his wine to see if they were really going to do it.

The Lithuanian finally lowered his hands, looking over his fingers at the frozen Pole. A few seconds went by, with many countries still goading them on, and then the brunet nation finally bucked up the courage to lean down and peck the blond's lips.

Cheers went up around the room, followed by several wolf whistles. Poland was completely caught off guard and he went cherry red, clutching his sweater as if strangling it. Loudly announcing he had to go to the bathroom, the country rushed out of the room. Lithuania groaned and covered his face again, crouching down beside the Baltic's table to hide behind his friends. Latvia patted his shoulder comfortingly.

Despite the goodwill of the affectionate moment, most everyone was now looking about the room to try and find any other mistletoe—more than likely so no one else shared the same awkward fate. France seemed shamelessly pleased, leaning back in his seat with a victorious grin. With so many people in one room, he was bound to nab another pair sooner or later.

Austria sipped his spiced drink. He was lucky enough to have seen where the Frenchman had hanged up all his bundles of mistletoe, and deigned to never tread close to any of them.

Fortunately for France's expectations, the second unlucky couple was caught by the malicious berries not ten minutes later. Poor Slovakia and Ireland were caught unawares, simply giving a passing greeting to one another by one of the windows. The Irish nation nearly choked on the lager he was drinking when the overly exuberant Frenchman gave up the call. Slovakia started laughing nervously, unable to look at the other man while Ireland just stared dumbstruck at France, holding his cheeky gaze in a battle of wills.

A few countries at the nearby tables were assuring the pair that they didn't have to do it, or that they should just get it over with for the sake of Christmas spirit. France was loudly giving some _very explicit_ advice on the best way for them to kiss. Slovakia looked damn near ready to faint.

The whole thing came to an end when England piped up that the Irishman simply wasn't _man enough_ to go through with it. The red-haired man looked somewhere between livid and just drunk enough to actually fall for such a goad. Which he did. _Of course._

The room erupted in a mixture of disbelieving laughter and cheers as Ireland accosted the stunned Slovakian man with a very rough, very _deep,_ surprise kiss, who most definitely fainted after that.

The Irishman gave a victorious grin as he held the blushing man by the shoulders, mocking England for his 'stupidity' with gusto.

Austria nibbled on a dinner roll. He just hoped Slovakia wouldn't sue the drunkard, or France, or _him,_ when he eventually came back to his senses.

He glanced to his right, noticing the Swiss leaning on his hand watching the whole ordeal in sleepy amusement. It was probably no surprise to him that France would have arranged for some romantic hijinks to occur during the banquet, as he knew the country of love well.

Though, Switzerland did seem about ready to fall asleep at any moment, interesting events or not.

The Austrian nudged the snickering Frenchman beside him, gathering his attention. "Perhaps it's time we passed out gifts."

"Oui, I agree. The real fun has yet to begin," the blond said, clapping his hands together. He stood then, Austria standing with him, and called out, "All right, everybody, it's present time!"

While France gave the rundown for the gift exchange, the Austrian began to walk over towards the pile of presents. Grabbing an armful, he began to pass them out. After he finished speaking, the Frenchman began to do the same and soon enough everyone had a gift, and the room was abuzz with excitement.

France then went back up toward the hearth where he kept the bowl of names for the raffle and began pulling out the names. There were ten extra gifts to be won, all sat in neat red and green bags along the top of the mantle, and the Austrian proceeded handing them out as the names were pulled.

 _Estonia, Scotland, Denmark, Belgium, Liechtenstein, Finland, Czech Republic, Monaco, Southern Italy,_ and _England._

Austria snatched the last bag away before France could redraw the name, making sure the Englishman got it fair and square. The blond pouted at him, but England gave him a quiet thanks around his sip of sherry.

There was a bit of confusion on whether or not everyone should open their presents at once, or go one by one, but some overeager countries were already tearing into their bags and boxes, so that settled that. Everybody just went ahead and opened their own as they got them, or did them as a table.

The others at his table had decided to wait for him and France to return before opening their own gifts, which was very kind.

By the time Austria returned to his seat there was a thin black bag with golden tissue paper sticking out the top sitting next to his chair. He also spied Hungary's little box for him, and a small blue box with a tag from Liechtenstein on it.

He glanced up at the young girl across from him and caught her shy smile, suddenly grateful he had thought to make her a little something as well as her brother. He looked back down at the small blue box fondly, running his fingers over it. _Honestly, this night is full of surprises._

They elected Hungary to go first, and the woman reached for a small white bag with silver paper on the table, looking it over for a name tag or a card. There was a card, but she set it aside for later. She pulled aside the paper and pulled out several jewelry boxes with surprised delight.

"Oh, my," the Hungarian said as she opened the longest box. She held up a brightly bejeweled necklace, a center crystal seated in a throne of prismatic bismuth. An odd, though appealing, jewelry choice for sure, Austria thought. Upon closer inspection of said crystal, Hungary's eyes lit up and she looked at the object with excitement. "There's a snowflake inside. Oh, how neat! See it?"

Liechtenstein and France marveled at the whimsically preserved snowflake as the woman opened up the other box, showcasing twirling bismuth earrings to match. When the necklace was passed over for him and Switzerland to look at—and there was a tiny snowflake in the center of the polished crystal—all he could focus on was the heat radiating off of the Swiss as he leaned over to get a look.

Austria thought his skin caught fire as the blond man reached over to take the crystal from him, brushing his knuckles accidentally along the way.

_He's so close._

"It's quite marvelous, indeed," he found himself saying, brain flipping itself to autopilot. "It even matches your dress."

_Why isn't he keeping away from me?_

"Does the card say who it's from?" France added, and he could feel the bearded man's eyes on him.

_He's so warm._

Hungary finally picked up the card and read it, cheerfully saying, "Apparently Sweden is my Secret Santa. How sweet of him!"

_How on Earth am I expected to sit right beside him, so casually?_

"You should go over and thank him."

_It . . ._

"I wonder if he made it himself. I remember Fin telling me that he liked to make jewelry."

The rest of the conversation fell into a dull buzz to the aristocrat's ears, and he couldn't pull his gaze from the poinsettia tablecloth. He was vaguely aware that he was making some sort of excuse about visiting the restroom, and for the others to continue, before swiftly standing and retreating through the side entrance out into the hallway.

His vision was foggy, eyes and throat aching, and the air around him felt too stifling to breathe in. He couldn't take it.

Austria made it halfway down the hall before he collapsed to the side, gripping his arms tightly as he hid within the shadow of a doorway. Leaning his back against the cool wood, the brunet closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, if shakily; trying to recover from the conflicting emotions warring within him.

Why, _oh why,_ must he be cursed with this . . . this _feeling?_ Not even the distractions of the holidays or having guests could dissuade his heart from pounding at every miniscule thing the other man did. They were only supposed to be polite, at the least; greet one another, have dinner, maybe endure some small talk, open gifts, and then part ways at the end of the night. All of that had been going smoothly so far.

No hiccups. No yelling. No pain.

 _Harmless._ Everything that had happened so far was completely harmless. _Pleasant,_ even. He was fine, and safe, and whole.

Except that wasn't entirely true.

He almost wished the other would flinch away from him. That he would glare and brush him off, or bash him into mulch with that blunt mouth of his. At least he knew how to deal with _that_ side of their relationship, the anger, the _heat._ He could hide behind his own wall of knives and strike back.

But the rare kindness . . . the apathetic gentleness, the confiding, the _closeness_ . . . it was all too much.

_Too, too much._

_I miss him._

_It hurts._

Hearing the soft click of the banquet doors opening and closing far off to his left, followed by light footsteps, he pressed himself further into his hollowed space. The scent of _Lacoste Rouge_ cologne made his nostrils sting as much as his eyes were, which he firmly kept closed.

Summoning up his voice with a willpower he didn't know he possessed, the Austrian murmured, "You are too cruel."

"If you're going to whine and be sick, souris, the toilet is down the other hall."

Austria's frown deepened. He leaned his head against the wall of the alcove, relishing in the cool stone as he tensed up his shoulders even more.

"I'm not sick." And he was _not_ whining.

"Yes, you are." He felt the man lean against the corner of the doorway, effectively boxing him in as that gently accented voice continued, "You are sick with something that only _one_ or wine can cure you of."

"All the wine in the world couldn't make me go back in that room."

"Then maybe you should drink something stronger."

The aristocrat sneered and slit his eyes open, glaring through the blur at the blond before him for a few seconds before squeezing them shut again. He was afraid that he was going to tear open the sleeves of his sweater if he were made to listen to anymore French ridicule.

"Leave me be." The Austrian hated how quiet his voice was. "You're missing your party."

"Roderich." A warm hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he slumped despite himself. "This isn't _my_ party. I thought you would have at least figured that much out."

They stood together for some time, the only sounds around them being the distant chatter and muffled music from the banquet hall.

The quiet was preferable to the storm inside his head, and he slowly felt his nerves begin to settle, one by one. Austria finally opened his eyes once he was sure the burning inside had cooled, quite proud of himself for not having shed a tear. He would never have let himself live down the fact that the Frenchman had seen him cry. _Again._

Kind blue eyes stared down at him patiently, the thumb on that warm hand rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder. He'd taken off the antlers. _Good._ They would have made the moment even more unbearable. However, the Austrian felt it appropriate to rescind his earlier thoughts about France's honorable traits, despite not always remembering how attentive the man could be when he wanted to be—he had his moments.

And he was grateful that the Frenchman was allowing him to wallow like this. Austria closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath of that citrus and ginger cologne, relishing in it. Just a few more moments.

He would get over himself.

**...xXx...**

Austria eventually released the death grips on his arms and straightened, and France did the same. He patted the blond's hand and gave it a squeeze, signaling that he was recovered now. _Mostly._ His heart would just suffer his amorous delusion when he was alone, something he was all too familiar with.

And really, what was he doing? Sulking away from his crush like a teenager, bringing a sour mood to the actually- _nice_ -for-once festivities. He was _better_ than this. The musician shook out his sleeves, adjusting his cuffs and collar like armor, preparing to reenter the fray and come out unscathed.

"I'm just ill prepared today," he said, feeling more like himself now that he'd had time to collect his thoughts. "This is all a bit out of the ordinary."

France curled one side of his blond bangs and tucked it behind an ear. "Well, I _did_ give you a month's notice."

"Time doesn't help."

"I know, petite souris, but you'll be thanking me come morning."

"So ein grausamer Bär."

Once he felt ready enough, the Austrian slid by France and began heading back towards the party. He made sure every step he took was a confident one as the Frenchman fell into step beside him.

"Does that mean our children will be called, ah, _Mausbär,_ correct?" France cooed in his ear, slinging an arm around the brunet's shoulders.

Hearing the Frenchman try to make a stupid pun in his own language just solidified the fact that he must be in hell for Christmas. "I hate you so much."

Austria allowed the kiss to his temple. _"Je t'aime aussi~"_

"I suppose I should be grateful," the aristocrat huffed, meeting that oceanic gaze again. "This is awful philanthropic of you, after all."

France easily smiled and flipped his hair. "What kind of big brother would I be if I didn't get you a kiss for Christmas?"

"A what?"

The Austrian followed the finger pointing upwards as they opened the banquet hall doors. The music was louder now, the voices chattering a pleasing hum, and the festive scene was brighter than before to violet eyes. Firelight cast a warm glow over the room, illuminating his guests and their smiles as they unwrapped their gifts and thanked one another. A seasonal rarity, to be sure.

Unfortunately for his better mood, as he followed the direction of that slender digit, hanging off one of the peppermint banners over his and Switzerland's seats was his inexorable _doom._

_Oh. Oh no._

The arm around his shoulders tightened, preventing his escape. Austria glared daggers at the man's pale boots, balling his hands into fists.

"How _dare_ you," he hissed as quietly as he could, unwilling for the others to notice the French plague being cast upon him. "To think, you almost held a _shred_ of decency!"

"Aww, how rude," France snickered, and he could _feel_ his impish smirk permeating through the air at him. "I thought you'd be grateful for the opportunity."

"Switch seats with me."

"Are you sure?"

_"Switch."_

"Oh, I'll gladly fill in for you. Maybe I'll even get him upstairs."

"You _wouldn't."_

"Suisse _is_ looking positively hammered—"

_"Francis!"_

"—and this could be my chance."

"I swear to the Christkind they will never finds your bones."

"Then _sit down, chérie,_ and enjoy the night!" France cheered, pulling him closer to the table. The abhorrent Frenchman left him at the back of his chair, patting his shoulder once, twice, and winked before walking off towards the alcohol table.

Austria glared daggers at the blond's back, willing his gaze to stake through the other's chest.

"Is he bothering you?" The Austrian tore his gaze away to look at Hungary, spotting the worried look the woman was giving him. He then glanced to see both Liechtenstein and, of course, Switzerland looking up at him with curiosity.

The aristocrat fought to restrain the flush forming on his cheeks, and he quickly took his seat. _Right._ The others weren't privy to his inner struggle with his emotions nor his outer struggle with a ridiculous French cretin.

"Everything's fine," he said, waving his hand dismissively in the direction of the buffet tables. "He's just being a bit of an antagonist. Gives me conniptions."

Hungary's pink-painted lips pulled down at the corners. Before she could say anything else, Switzerland spoke up, voice gruff, "Want me to hit him?"

Austria blinked, staring openly at the surprising statement. The Swiss twirled a napkin in one hand, head resting on the other as he waited patiently for the brunet to answer.

"Really?" he asked, doubly surprised that the blond nodded in confirmation. At hearing Liechtenstein's little puff of laughter, the Austrian chuckled himself. "That won't be necessary, but thank you."

"'s up to you," Switzerland said, sipping his wine with a shrug.

Austria was already feeling much better than before. The air between them was still warm, but no longer suffocating, and he could allow the healthy buzz of joy to bubble back into his veins at being able to spend precious time with his beloved.

There was absolutely nothing _looming_ above them that could ruin the atmosphere.

"Would you like to go next, Mr. Austria?" Liechtenstein asked, grabbing his attention. Switzerland went a bit rigid at the statement.

Austria glanced at the girl, to her brother, then to his collection of gifts. The little country was probably eager to see him open the box she gave him, but he felt it proper that she go first. Then he saw the thin black bag beside his seat. It looked like it could be a wine bag, and he cemented his decision. "After you, Miss Liechtenstein. I insist." He saw the Swiss relax out of the corner of his eye.

"Okay, then." Liechtenstein smiled and stood, lifting the large gold gift bag beside her onto her seat. "Oof! It's kinda heavy," she huffed.

France returned then with a full pitcher of _Glühwein_ to replace their empty one—it was empty already? Huh. Austria elected to ignore him.

Carefully pulling out the tissue paper, the small country gasped. Standing on her tiptoes, Liechtenstein dug her arms deep into the bag and hefted out a monster of fur almost too big for her to hold. The bag tipped over and Hungary moved it out of the way, revealing the massive furry lump being held by the young girl. Liechtenstein adjusted the mass in her arms, grabbing it at two points and letting it drop open to reveal a giant sweater.

A _lopi_ sweater. The girl pressed the clothing up against herself, measuring that from the turtleneck beneath her chin it fell down to at least her knees. The fuzzy wool comprised of bright white for the base color, and the geometric pattern along the shoulders, bottom, and cuffs were a vibrant mulberry mauve and light grey.

The same shade of purple, Austria noted, as the country's usual hair ribbon.

"Oh, damn," Switzerland muttered, sitting back as he took in the shocking size of the sweater compared to his sister. "Is it supposed to be a dress?"

"I love it," Liechtenstein whispered, her jade eyes glittering.

Without hesitation, she hiked up the bottom of the material and lifted it above her head, sliding the mass of wool over her arms. With some wiggling and shoving, a blonde head of static popped out of the top, breathless and grinning, and soon her arms followed suit. Tugging the sweater down over her outfit, Liechtenstein stepped back from the table to reveal that the sweater was even longer than her dress and did, indeed, go slightly past her knees.

She snuggled her nose into the turtleneck collar, hugging herself tightly with glee. "It's so warm!"

Switzerland snorted. "No doubt."

"It suits you," Austria added, Hungary agreeing with him.

"I can bring this on our skiing trip, big brother!" Liechtenstein clapped her mitted hands together and quickly spun around in a circle. "I'm going to go thank him real quick, hold on," she continued and then she was off, jogging across the hall like a bounding sheep.

 _"Him?"_ Switzerland looked at the bag for a name tag, frowning in confusion at the lack of one or a card. The blond looked up accusingly at France, the other man shrugging and pointing over to the Nordic table in the opposite corner of the room.

Liechtenstein was excitedly chatting with the men at the table, turning to a shy looking Iceland. The young man was partially hiding behind Norway, his cheeks obviously red even from across the room. The white-haired nation eventually stood up, smoothing down his own furry sweater as he murmured something to the blonde girl. Liechtenstein was smiling and showing the other how the sweater looked on her, comparing it to his, and then she gave Iceland an eager hug of thanks.

Austria didn't know what was more alarming: the shade of red Iceland was turning as he tried his best to return Liechtenstein's embrace, or the fact that Switzerland suddenly gripped his butter knife. Emerald eyes looked clearer than before, zero intoxication marring the metaphorical daggers shooting at the poor Icelandic man; surely a precursor to actual danger about to fly.

Before anything escalated, and before he could stop himself, the Austrian rested his hand overtop the Swiss' own, compelling him to loosen his grip on the knife. Switzerland's eyes widened at the surprise touch and whipped his head towards him. Austria almost snatched his hand back right away.

Green eyes softened after a momentary impasse, and his hold on the sharp utensil loosened until his palm laid flat over it. The Swiss grimaced and turned back to stare across the room at his sister, reaching out to finish off the rest of his drink. France laughed and pushed over the pitcher of mulled wine.

"I think I'm going to head over there, too, and thank Sweden," Hungary announced, standing as she took a sip of her own glass of pear flavored _pálinka._ She glanced at the Swiss with a slightly reprimanding smile. "And Svájc, allow the girl some freedom. It's Christmas."

"I wasn't going to do anything," Switzerland grumbled, dropping his gaze down to his glass as he refilled it. "But it's not Christmas just yet."

"I do believe Iceland may have to watch his back from now on," Austria said, quietly teasing as Hungary left them.

A tired, mischievous smirk broke out on the Swiss' face as he growled low into his goblet, "He can try."

The Austrian felt his heart stutter at the sight, and he was increasingly aware that the other hadn't pulled away from him yet. His mind was turning itself over and over again like dough, pressing for an answer as to why.

 _His hand is soft, warm,_ his thoughts needled. _So warm._

Oh, how he absolutely _ached_ to properly lace their fingers together, like they used to in the past, freely. To press that firm palm against his, rubbing circles into the back of the other's hand. He wished to bring that hand up to his lips, laying kisses along each finger tip. On the back. The palm. The gaps between each knuckle. The inside of the wrist.

Austria allowed his thumb to barely brush against the blond's knuckle, a microscopic movement, barely a motion at all. The skin underneath his grasp was rough from labor, yet it felt like the softest silk to the brunet. Electricity crackled up his arm at the taboo caress.

He pulled away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Souris_ \- Mouse  
>  _Petite souris_ \- Little mouse  
>  _So ein grausamer Bär_ \- Such a cruel bear  
>  _Mausbär_ \- Mouse-bear (a cute term of endearment)  
>  _Je t'aime aussi_ \- I love you, too  
>  _Christkind_ \- Christ-child (the Christmas gift bringer in Austria and other parts of Europe, not Santa Claus but his equivalent)  
>  _Chérie_ \- Sweetheart  
>  _Svájc_ \- Switzerland  
>  _Pálinka_ \- Hungarian fruit brandy
> 
> Again, this is my own story!verse, so if the characters are acting a little out of proportion then that's just because that's how I write them in this universe of mine.
> 
> Hence, Austria's got it bad, yo.
> 
> Also, I was going to wait to post it until all the chaps were done, but since the last couple won't take me long I just decided to hell with it and posted anyways.


	4. Snow Thy Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Austria endeavours to control himself, France has to deal with some consequences, and Switzerland opens his gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, every single one of these chapter titles will be punny as heck.

Burying his hands into his lap, the Austrian dug his nails into his palm to try and regain any sense of self control. It was _certainly_ not the right moment to remember about the mistletoe above them, either.

France had mysteriously disappeared from his sight, nowhere to be found anywhere within the banquet hall, and he felt a bit of earlier anxiety beginning to nibble at him again. Liechtenstein and Hungary were still happily talking with the Nordics across the way, not privy to the fact that they'd abandoned him to the wolves—or _lone wolf,_ in this case.

The aristocrat racked his brain for something, anything, to talk about to clear away the awkwardness clouding around him. He turned a bit in his seat, deigning to give the other his full attention now that they were alone. Well, as _alone_ as they could be in a room full of people.

"So," he began.

"So," Switzerland echoed. His voice was more gravelly than normal, from exhaustion and alcohol, and the deep tone sent a shiver down the brunet's spine.

"I, ah," Austria paused, glancing over his shoulder towards the snowfall outside the windows, "I apologize for the weather." He looked back to the Swiss, green eyes holding him steady as he dropped his voice lower with sincerity. "I know you wouldn't be staying, otherwise."

Switzerland raised an eyebrow, looking perplexed. Then the blond's gaze shied away, a stain of pink splashing his cheeks.

"We're not staying just because of the storm," the man said, making Austria raise his own eyebrows. _What?_

The Swiss sighed and tilted his glass of wine back and forth, the dark liquid sloshing this way and that. "I just don't want to drive after, _you know."_ He downed the wine once more, and then pointed at the Austrian with his empty goblet. "Did this always taste this good? I don't remember this tasting this good," he asked, his voice having just the barest slur to accompany his unfocused words.

"Danke," Austria reacted automatically, even if he was unsure if the Swiss was complimenting him for his ability to make spiced wine or not. He cleared his throat of the cotton forming there. "Couldn't Miss Liechtenstein drive, then?"

"So it's _that_ big of a problem that I stay one night?" the blond lashed out, words like a bludgeon. "Because I'll go, then."

Austria flinched at the sudden venom dripping from the blond's lips, taken off guard by the defensive response. Switzerland was full on scowling at the table now, hands gripping his goblet so tightly that the musician was afraid the glass might give way.

 _Why is he so upset?_ he panicked, ribcage filling with pins.

"No! No, of course not," Austria rushed to say, wanting to correct the situation. "I don't mind in the slightest." He dropped his tone, attempting to soothe the invisible brier growing between them. "Stay as long as you need." _Want._

Switzerland didn't react for a long time. Austria was inwardly worrying whether or not the rest of the party was going to be like this.

_It's hard to break a mold with only niceties and wine._

A few heavy heartbeats later, the Swiss released the goblet from his death grip. The blond stared at his hands for a second before curling them into loose fists. He turned his head to look in the direction of the Austrian, though he still kept his eyes on the table. His expression was gentler now, apprehensive.

"Sorry," Switzerland said softly. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the blond closed his mouth, looking away.

 _He didn't mean it._ Austria let out a breath, unwilling to let the heated moment get to him like it usually would. _He's just tired._

He stared at the Swiss' empty goblet, and got an idea.

"Would you like something more potent to drink?" he asked. _Lord knows I do._

"God, yes," Switzerland groaned, finally raising his eyes to give the Austrian almost a pleading look. "No offense to your Glühwein, but I'm aiming for the deepest sleep tonight."

"None taken." Thoughts running over the best alcohols to get his companion, Austria began to stand.

As if descending from Heaven just to startle them, France appeared between the pair out of thin air and set two highball glasses down in front of them. The tall glasses were filled with a coffee-like liquid with a bit of ice, and gave off a strong smell of cinnamon and something creamy.

"Pour vous, mes chéris," the Frenchman sang, waving his hands at the concoctions. He was wearing his reindeer antlers once more, the little ear bells tinkling as he moved.

"What's in this?" Austria asked as he retook his seat. He lifted the tumbler suspiciously, scenting it more. Yes, there was definitely cinnamon involved. He thought he saw a few flakes of gold swirling around the bottom of the glass. Switzerland also cautiously picked up his own glass.

"I hope you don't mind, but I raided your personal bar for some Goldshläger," France said as he knelt between their chairs. He had the decency to at least look sheepish when the two men gave him odd looks for sitting on the floor. "I mixed it with some Bailey's and butterscotch. It's supposed to taste like gingerbread, or so I'm told."

He had Switzerland at _'Goldschläger.'_ The Swiss enthusiastically took a drink of the cocktail, uncaring for the rest of the Frenchman's explanation. Austria carefully watched as emerald eyes fluttered closed, and the bond hummed in approval before taking a second, slower sip. The aristocrat relaxed and went to take a drink of his own, enjoying the burn the icy mix of flavors sent down his throat. He could definitely taste the cinnamon and butterscotch schnapps, and the slush of Irish cream was a good catalyst between the two.

Austria stared at the liquid as he pulled away. _Gingerbread, huh._

Glancing down to his right at the Frenchman who sat between them, he raised a brow. "May I inquire as to what you're doing on the floor?"

France pulled at the collar of his rose-colored shirt, blue eyes avoiding looking up. "Ah, Britain is opening his gift."

"And?"

"I _may_ have pulled his name from the hat."

Austria shared a skeptical look with Switzerland. There was absolutely _no way_ that France would have accidentally been the man's secret Santa. _Especially not,_ the Austrian thought, _since he's been orchestrating everything since the beginning._ The two of them immediately looked over towards England's table.

The Brit was opening a box wrapped with neat green striped paper, looking calm, if naturally curious. Lifting up the lid, Austria saw the man's thick eyebrows raise considerably.

England lifted from the box a furry, black beanie with a puff ball on top. The musician squinted from the distance, noticing that the ear flaps were shaped a bit oddly. They were a tad droopy, tapering at the end in points and they looked a bit like . . . cow ears? Goat?

Next, the man pulled out a black sweater. It looked thick, like hand knitted sheep's wool, and the man looked struck staring at the front of it. Switzerland craned his head to peer around the Austrian to see if he could see if there was anything on it, but it wasn't until Wales coaxed the Englishman to turn it around to show the rest of the table that they saw it.

Across the front of the sweater, stitched in fluffy, white bubble letters, was the phrase, _'Baaa Humbug.'_

Austria puffed a breath through his nose, looking back to a certain hiding Frenchman. "A sheep, really?" He was almost impressed.

 _"Black."_ France grinned up at him, winking.

"I think he likes it," Switzerland muttered. France knelt up to peek around Austria to get a look.

The more impressive feat was that it seemed the Swiss was correct—England had a bit of a blush on his cheeks from the teasing he was receiving from his brothers, but he didn't seem upset by the gift. Eventually, the man's green eyes began scanning the crowd of countries after he'd been assured that it wasn't anyone at his table who'd given the joking gift. It looked like he knew _exactly_ who did it.

France hid back down as that gaze ghosted over to them, ducking his antlers below the table with a jingle. England stared at the empty seat beside the Austrian before looking to him, searching for confirmation. Austria just raised his glass, letting it rest in the air a moment before taking a drink. England could deduce what he meant or not on his own.

Switzerland caught both their attentions as he coughed to cover a laugh. Austria watched as the man composed his expression, looking like his normal nonchalant self, before slowly raising up both of his hands. He spread his fingers in a wide five and pressed his thumbs to his headband, just above his ears.

It could have been the alcohol in his system, or the small finger wiggle the Swiss did, but the Austrian couldn't help his sudden laugh at the situation. He sat back in his seat, allowing himself to smile.

"You traitors," France grumbled, pouting up at them.

"Get up off the floor," Austria said, still chuckling, "and tell him you're the culprit."

"I will if you will," France said haughtily. Baby blue eyes met violet, and despite the hidden threat behind those words, for the first time that night Austria felt like he finally had the upper hand.

"What's this?" Austria trilled innocently, leaning his arm over the back of his chair. "A brutish bear afraid of a little sheep?"

France crossed his arms and legs, huffing, "I'm not afraid. I just don't feel like getting hit for the holidays."

Austria's eye caught on the Swiss as he lowered his hands, and who was now slyly gesturing above the table. The brunet looked back over his shoulder to see England making his way towards them, eared hat in hand. He turned back to the cowardly man at his feet and acted as if nothing was amiss.

"Get up, Francis."

"I think I'm good down here."

"This is the time for good will, not rivalry."

"I understand that, I do, but I just couldn't _resist."_

"I won't allow any fighting between you two," he said, meaning it. "Now come on, you're getting your pants all filthy."

"Non!"

"If you were that worried," Switzerland chipped in, "then why would you purposely get him a gift that might get you smacked?"

"Did you even _see_ that hat?" France whined, waving his hand. "He'd look absolutely—"

"Ridiculous?"

The three men turned to see England standing on Austria's left, arms crossed as he looked at the man on the floor. The Brit looked only a tad miffed, but nothing too serious.

"Oh, apologies," England continued, swaying a little on his feet. "You must be referring to that atrocity you're wearing."

France stood so quickly he almost fell over. Smoothing down his sweater, the bearded man straightened up and donned his more usual look of taunting whenever he has to deal with the Englishman. "I _was_ going to say that it'd look really cute, but you're right. I must be talking about _moi."_

England scrunched up his face. The pair had stalked away a few meters so they could bicker without the Austrian trapped between them, and looked about ready to get into it. The British man didn't seem angry before, but too much sherry and talking with France could get anyone heated up. Austria watched with a critical eye as a few blasé insults were tossed back and forth, but then the Englishman stopped mid-sentence and just looked down at the hat in his hands.

A few tense beats went by.

Much to the surprise of everyone watching, England actually tugged on the sheep hat. He flicked one of the little flaps over his ears, cheeks red.

"I suppose I needed a new hat, anyways," the man grumbled. "This'll have to do."

That was as close to a _'thank you'_ as France was going to get, and the bearded man looked positively floored. Blue eyes wide, mouth caught open in a sassy retort.

"My, it _is_ a Christmas miracle," Austria whistled at France. "You finally shut up."

France turned to him with a groan. "You're insufferable, you know that, right."

 _Ha! I'm the one's who's insufferable?_ Austria rolled his eyes, saying, "At least you two match now."

Both men turned a bright scarlet, each ripping their headgear off so quickly that it made their hair frizz out. He was assaulted with several protests before the pair griped about him together and walked away, grumbling jointly about needing a drink.

Austria returned to his tumbler with a victory sip, relieved that the whole silly ordeal was over. Honestly, it couldn't have went any better. There was no bloodshed or punches thrown, _this time._

"You think we were being a bit harsh?" The Austrian glanced over to see Switzerland staring at him with a small frown.

He didn't care for that look. It made the Swiss look too troubled, too contrast with his bright attire.

Austria grimaced himself. "If you'd only witnessed the teasing I've had to endure the past week, you wouldn't think so," he said easily, sipping his drink again. 

It'd been some time since he'd last drank this much socially, and he was glad for the buzz in the back of his mind. And he _was_ grateful for his very high alcohol tolerance, and the fact that he could easily outdrink the rest of his relations, but it definitely hindered his ability to let loose like most people.

Apparently, though, he was now winning against the Swiss this time, as his highball glass was nearly empty and the blond's still had about two thirds left. Switzerland had seemed to slow in his desire to get plastered; maybe because of his sister, or the fact that they still had gifts to open. If anything, the blond man was still a functional drunk, sometimes even a productive one.

He could just see the top of the green tissue paper from a bag on the other side of the Swiss. All at once, the aristocrat was less enthused with opening presents, quite content to stall as long as possible. The alcoholic vigor oozing through his veins scorched away some of his nervousness, but not enough for his heart to stop peddling a million miles an hour.

 _Right._ Austria inhaled deeply, staring at his cufflinks. _Gifts._

**...xXx...**

By the time their other tablemates were returning to them, the Austrian had worked himself into a full on flurry of worriment. He'd long since finished his gingerbread cocktail, and was leaning on his hand as he stared at the golden wreath centerpiece. The fingers on his right hand were quietly tapping to the low holiday music playing from the stereo, unconsciously playing the notes as he hummed the tune.

He was itching to just get up, go to his own grand piano, and _vent._ Anything to cease the aches in his wrists and heart.

Switzerland was silent beside him. The blond had gotten his tumbler down to about a drink left and then stopped, possibly starting to feel the _many_ glasses of wine he'd drank in addition to the new cocktail.

The whole visage—the Swiss with a permanent flush on his cheeks, the side of that neat blond bob closest to him tucked behind an ear, resting on his arms on the table with his eyes closed, breathing deeply—made the musician want to lean over and kiss his cheek.

 _Just once._ Maybe twice. Maybe he wouldn't stop there.

 _Maybe,_ he scolded himself, _I should have held off on the schnapps._ He agonized over the fact that he let his thoughts _go there_ when he was already so unwound from his usual set of armor.

". . . said it was to protect me from the Yule cat this year."

Austria lifted his gaze to the two women seating themselves across from him. Liechtenstein had removed the lopi sweater from over her clothes and had folded it neatly, now placing it back in the bag it came from.

"Sorry we took so long," Hungary said, smiling at the aristocrat. "Fin got to telling a story."

Her presence soothed him, and Austria forced himself to sit up straighter, his fingers stilling.

"It's no problem, really," he assured. He glanced to the blond man on his right, feeling his cheeks warm up, before looking back to the woman. "We had our own little adventure while you were gone."

Liechtenstein leaned over and patted her brother's arm, murmuring sweetly, "Brother, are you awake?"

_"Ja."_

Austria hid his smile behind his hand, amused at the Swiss' tired grumble. He'd genuinely thought the man had been napping beside him—which he might have been, before his sister returned. Switzerland ran a hand through his hair as he sat up, straightening some disheveled locks. A flash of light from the hearth behind them caught on a particular strand, twisting like fire behind an ear.

The brunet had to physically restrain himself from reaching out and doing it for him, from running his own ungloved fingers through thick golden tresses. His wrist ached all the more from the harsh grip he was using.

"Would you ladies like to continue?" Austria said, forcing his fingers to lace together in lieu of strangulation. "You both have another gift, and I don't see Francis anywhere."

Hungary adjusted her brooch, smiling and pointing over her shoulder. "He and England are conversing out in the foyer, so yeah. It might be awhile."

"Conversing, or . . ?"

"Ah, _conversing."_

"And neither of you have opened a gift, yet," Liechtenstein added, shooing her hands at them. "So go on, you guys open something."

Austria cast from his mind all thoughts of France as Switzerland groaned in agreement, and lifted up the bag beside him. Green tissue paper atop a sleek, white gift bag. _His gift._ The Swiss rubbed his eye and starting pulling at the paper.

_Plucking at his heart strings._

_One by one._

The blond man reached in and took out a tissue wrapped bundle.

 _I do believe this night is making me insane,_ the Austrian thought, sitting back in his seat and bringing his tied fingers into his lap.

Switzerland pulled on the paper, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He lifted up the neatly folded object and unraveled it, lying it across his forearms and holding it over the table. Austria thought for sure the man would be able to tell it was from him almost immediately, and not even finish opening the rest of the bag. But there he was.

Holding onto the scarf in his hands with a mellow, sort of reverential look.

The Swiss ran his fingers over the emerald shade of wool. Along the strings of knots and loops.

"This color . . ." he murmured, petting down the length of the star stitch pattern.

_It matches your eyes._

"It's so rich," Liechtenstein added. She leaned over and felt the end of it. "And soft! I wonder what kind of yarn this is."

Austria had to bite his cheek to keep from answering. _Alpaca._

He was busy watching Switzerland's expression as he handled the scarf when a small movement caught his eye. He glanced across the table at Hungary. The woman was giving him a neutral look, but her eyes were flicking between him and the scarf the Swiss was admiring, a single eyebrow raised in question. The Austrian's hands tightened around each other, and he gave a minor nod, just a duck of his head in confirmation as he looked down at the table.

Hungary exhaled softly, something akin to a murmur of sympathy, and the woman stood. Walking around the side of the table, the Hungarian sat in France's empty seat and scooted it right beside him. She leaned over him to comment on Switzerland's gift, and Austria was aware of her gentle hand as it rested over his tangled own.

If she could figure it out from across the table, there was no doubt now that the blond man would have realized by now.

Realizing or not, Switzerland wound the thick material around his neck. "There's always a use for a good scarf," he was saying, pulling the wool up over his nose as a test, breathing in deeply. He tugged it back down and hummed. "It feels handmade."

"It probably is," Hungary said. Her delicate hand dipped between his and pulled them apart, comfortably twining their fingers together. She might not have known about his infatuation towards the other man, but she most certainly knew how hard it was for him to be around the Swiss on a daily basis ever since they'd parted from one another.

But that night was as good a night as any, much better in most cases, and so he would survive.

The brunet appreciated her concern over him, and he inhaled a deep, steadying breath. He patted her hand and turned his head, giving her a quick smile, allowing himself to relax. She seemed to settle herself, smiling back at him discreetly before answering something Liechtenstein asked her.

Austria turned back to the Swiss as he dipped his hands back into the bag. _As expected._ There were two more things for him to discover. The next objects he pulled from the bag were two bottles of _Goldschläger_ with little green and red ribbons around the necks. Switzerland chuckled a small bit as he set them on the table, mentioning how lucky this Christmas was turning out to be. It was the blond's favorite flavor, after all, so of course the Austrian had bought some for him to have.

"I'll finally get to sleep through all the holiday stress," he quipped, catching his sister's wide-eyed look. "I'm kiddin', Lil'."

"You better be," she puffed. The girl crossed her arms in mock annoyance, though there was a big smile pasted on her face. "This year I'm making dinner."

"Can't wait."

Austria savored the domestic moment. It was heartwarming to see just how close the two had become over the years, enough for Liechtenstein to even joke around the stern Swiss. Not that the man was cruel, more just that he was shy, and blunt at the best of times.

He was . . . _truly_ thankful that the man had someone to care for him.

 _And I do, too,_ he thought, giving Hungary's hand a squeeze. The woman leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. _Of course._

It was easy for him to forget.

Switzerland reached in for the last thing, setting the now empty bag back onto the floor as he pulled out another tissue wrapped item that was larger than the last. The one that had taken him the longest to make, the one that gave his wrists their awful ache. The one thing that he was most proud of and made the whole event worth it.

It was a shawl.

Made from the bright vermillion color he'd spotted in the window of the crafts store, along with a deeper maroon and white for variety. It'd taken him the first few hours of knitting to get back into the groove of things, but thankfully his muscle memory had picked it back up soon enough. It had been fun to attempt his first crescent Alberta pattern in years, and to wind the three shades together so the reds bled from white at the shoulders, to the lighter crimson for the midsection, to darker garnet at the wild rose edging. He'd wanted to do something more than just a thick, flat knit; he'd wanted to do something a little more, _well,_ him. It was certainly still meant for warmth, if also style, and for the Swiss to get lots of use out of.

To wrap around himself in the early mornings while sipping tea, or during long nights staying up late at his desk.

_To hold him when I can't._

Though, his heart was breaking as the man just stared at the shawl, unmoving since he'd spread it across the tablecloth. Hungary had leaned over him once more to get a closer look, and Liechtenstein was doing the same to her brother. Any words said by the two women on either side of them went unheard beyond the heartbeat thumping in his ears. Switzerland's gaze wasn't unkind, just—

_Transfixed._

Hungary leaned back and released his hand as she stood, saying more kind words as the woman picked up the shawl from behind the Swiss. Shaking out the pattern, she draped it around the man's shoulders and spread out the end in her hands, stepping back and commenting on it with the man's little sister. Switzerland hugged it closer around himself, still looking dazed and unfocused, clutching it in front of his chest.

"So, you like it, then?" Austria asked quietly, unable to help himself. The first time he'd spoken since the man had begun opening his gift. _What else can I say without sounding self-centric, or give myself away?_

The Swiss snapped back to the present, catching his hand away as he ran it along the intricate looping. His blond hair fell back from behind his ear as he shook his head; once, twice, inhaling slowly.

Viridian eyes lifted to violet, framed by the glow of emerald and ruby wools in the firelight.

 _"Oh,"_ Switzerland breathed.

Then there were arms around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Danke_ \- Thanks  
>  _Pour vous, mes chéris_ \- For you, my darlings  
>  _Non!_ \- No!  
>  _Moi_ \- Me  
>  _Ja_ \- Yes  
>  _Yule Cat_ \- Icelandic Christmas monster that will eat someone if they haven't received new clothes to wear before Christmas Eve  
> 
> 
> See, Switzerland? Iceland was just protecting poor Lilli from getting eaten by a big ol' feline!
> 
> Also, if anyone's curious (and of legal drinking age) here's the recipe for that gingerbread drink France made. I found it online and, even though I haven't gotten to try it yet myself, I have heard it does sort of taste like gingerbread! It's got Bailey's in it so I have high hopes.
> 
>  **Gingerbread Man Drink Recipe**  
>  _1/3 oz Goldschläger cinnamon schnapps_  
>  _1/3 oz butterscotch schnapps_  
>  _1/3 oz Bailey's Irish cream_  
>  Mix the ingredients with ice in a shaker and pour into a highball glass.


	5. A Slippery Slope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Austria finally opens his presents, and realizes something important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was running a bit long so I split it up into two, so there's an extra (final) chapter after this one. Oh well, I hope you guys will like where this leads, regardless!

_"Danke."_

All right. This was normal. Positively normal.

 _Yes._ Nothing wrong here.

He didn't panic.

_Nope._

Especially since he most certainly did _not_ get barreled over by a fervent Swiss.

Oh _no._

Austria felt the floor slip out from under him as those strong arms clutched around his shoulders. The force of the sudden embrace sucked all the air out of his lungs, his vision flashing white for the smallest second. He was aware of absolutely nothing else; only the heat soaking through his shirt from the man pressing against him, the warmth of the cheek nestled against his neck, the breath tickling his hair.

His hands held themselves aloft, frozen, and he was unsure what exactly to do with himself. The aristocrat's spine was ramrod straight; the blond man's body draped over him out of his seat, arms curled around his shoulders, legs tangled with his own as the Swiss squeezed him tightly.

"Ignore this," hot words were grumbled into his ear, "'m drunk."

 _Oh, my, my word._ The Austrian forced the breath caught in his throat outward, and carefully laid his hands on the other's back, slipping them between the knitted shawl and soft sweater. _How can I?_

But what he managed was a small, "Okay."

Austria was vaguely aware of the pounding of his heart and the stares of the two ladies opposite him. Hungary was hiding her rather _offensive_ teasing smile behind a slender hand, her eyes twinkling at him. Liechtenstein was staring at her brother's back, her eyebrows raised up high, underneath her long bangs, and she glanced up to the aristocrat in surprise.

"Mr. Austria!" He jolted a bit too roughly, clinging to Switzerland's sweater as he lifted his gaze to hers.

"Y-Yes?" His voice did _not_ squeak, either.

"You were the one who made these?" she asked, her jade eyes sparkling excitedly. Her hands were holding the end of the shawl. "They're both so beautiful!"

The Austrian couldn't even find the air to thank her as the man's grip tightened around him. Smothering him even more in this wondrously hot, blond, knitted hell he'd inadvertently created for himself. He'd went from sulking about his beloved, to actually _hugging_ him. It was too much.

He swore he could feel the hammering of a heart in the chest pressed to his, nailing the coffin around his own beating devotion.

_Too much, too much . . . and not enough._

Then Switzerland released him.

The embrace couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, twenty at the most, and yet it had drawn out over an eternity in the Austrian's mind. The blond man's cheeks were painted a pretty pink as he kept those emerald irises hidden, directed at the floor as he pulled back, straightening up in his own seat.

And just . . . Oh _why_ were his bones ringing out like bells at the embrace? His blood singing through his veins, directly to his heart? Lifting up that infernally love-struck organ into the back of his throat, cutting off the necessary air to his head?

His thoughts were in utter disarray. Nothing but fluttering emotions and questions and stabs of insecurities.

_I can hardly speak, hardly breathe. Say something. No. No, no. Shut your mouth. Ugh. You look like a dead fish. He hugged me. He actually, willingly hugged me. Him. Me. But how? Why? Why, why, why? I can hardly take it. He felt so good. I missed holding him. I miss him. I miss him so much. Is this a test? This has to be a test. If so, then I'm failing._

Switzerland finally lifted his brilliant gaze to stare into his own, only to shy away again with another murmur of, "Danke."

_Oh, Lord, am I failing._

"B-Bitte." There was nothing to be done about the stammering in his voice, as he was desperately trying to recover words from his flooded mind. Austria cleared his throat, smoothing down the front of his sweater in an attempt to return back to normalcy. Not that _anything_ about that night was normal.

The brunet cleared his throat once more, cursing the heat pooled in his cheeks. "I'm pleased," he said, trying to chase those demure gem-like irises as the Swiss avoided looking up. "That you like them, that is."

Switzerland adjusted the scarf around his neck, shrugging the shawl up more around his shoulders. Austria didn't want to preen his own feathers, but the red and white cloak really looked great on the other man. He didn't know if it was just because of the blond's outfit's color scheme, or because he was bias in general, but the Austrian was overtly satisfied.

He had the urge to reach out and take hold of the shawl, pulling it further around him snugly. Fix a stray silky hair, maybe clasp the knit in the front with a pin. _Ah, damn, I should have gotten him a pin to go with it._

A hand covered his own. Austria realized that he must be trapped in a perpetual state of having out of body experiences. _Apparently_ he had no control over his own atrocious actions, since he _had_ reached out to tug the shawl more around the Swiss, fingers brushing his disorderly bangs. Now those emerald irises were staring at him intensely, his treasonous hand caught in a vice grip by the other man.

Rich green eyes narrowed.

A pulse of heat flashed down his spine.

The sound fizzled out around him.

Mistletoe loomed above them.

_Right._

Switzerland softened his expression after a few tense heartbeats and released his hand. The man finally spoke up, glancing over his shoulder as Liechtenstein continued fawning over the intricate pattern draping him, saying, "You should open your stuff." He turned his attention back, waving his hand towards the Austrian's own presents. Those fingers waved especially at the small blue box on the table, the Swiss' voice lowered to a whisper as he tilted his head back slightly towards his sister, "She's very excited."

Austria was appreciative for the distraction, and quickly tore himself away from the increasingly absurd situation. _Yes. Presents. Christmas. Get a hold of yourself._

Another thought seeped forth, spreading over the whole situation. _That wasn't so terrible._

_I can't believe that actually . . . went well._

"Of course, then," he conceded, stealing one last look at the blond's still-pink cheeks. Hungary came to sit beside him again with a serene, _taunting_ air as she kept sending wicked smiles his way.

Austria turned in his seat to face the table and reached for the small blue box. Liechtenstein had scooted her chair closer to her brother's and perked up when she saw him do this, leaning forward eagerly. Switzerland removed the green scarf from around his neck and folded it to put back into his gift bag, though he still kept the shawl tucked around him.

The aristocrat focused his attention on the task at hand and picked up the box before him. It was wrapped in a light, sky blue paper with a simple white ribbon tied around it, a name tag hanging off said ribbon. Much the same as Ukraine's own gift. Austria pulled the bow loose and carefully ran his thumb between the tape holding the folded paper together.

He was never one to viciously tear into a gift, no matter how anxious he was to see what was inside, preferring to carefully unveil that which was hidden.

He slid the wrapping paper off to unfold a black velvet box. _Well,_ he thought, _that's not very revealing._ The gift could be anything. Some kind of jewelry, surely, or maybe a thin bottle of perfume. _Anything._

Austria decided not to keep the poor girl waiting any longer—as she was nearly vibrating in her seat in his peripheral vision—and just opened the box.

Needled through a white satin cushion was an ascot pin. The shaft looked to be a beautifully twisted rose gold, and the head of the pin was carved in the shape of an eagle, curved around an orb of moonstone in half-circular flight. The stone was tinted yellow and milky white in a cat's eye coloration—or, he supposed, a _bird's eye._

"How charming," Austria said as he picked up the box, slipping the elegant piece from it's satin pillow, and twirled the carving between his fingers.

"Do you like it?" Liechtenstein asked, voice sweet and slightly nervous.

Austria sent her a gracious smile. "Of course, my dear. Thank you." He sure was doing a lot of smiling. "Leave it to the one night I let my neck go bare that I would receive something as splendid as this." _Still smiling._ Must be the wine. Or the schnapps.

Violet eyes ghosted from one head of peppermint adorned, honey-colored hair to the next, then back down to the pin in his hands, feeling foolish he let his gaze wander.

_Definitely the schnapps._

Liechtenstein's blushed and smiled happily back at him, clapping her hands together. "Yay! That makes me happy."

"Thank you, again," he added as he placed the pin back in its box. Before he could say anything else, Hungary was sliding her equally small box in front of him with a wink.

"Don't think about it too much, just open it," she urged. He heard Liechtenstein giggle over his shoulder.

Austria glanced between the two women, feeling a teaspoon of suspicion drip down the back of his throat. He did as was asked, without delay. He noticed that Hungary's gift to him was wrapped with shiny white paper and a light blue bow. The feeling was more like a tablespoon, now. Giving the grinning Hungarian another glance, he proceeded to open the small box the same way he'd opened Liechtenstein's, if a bit quicker.

Under the paper was, indeed, another black velvet box. He ran his fingers down the length of it, sizing it beside the pin's box. They were the same size. The Austrian let the corner of his mouth quirk up, beginning to feel amused, muttering a teasing, "Okay, and?"

"Oh, just _open_ it, Rod," Hungary cooed, leaning onto his shoulder again.

Once he did, he couldn't help but fully smile again. Inside, _pinned through white satin,_ were two cufflinks. Rose gold, like before, only this time it was carved into the shapes of clawed feet holding onto two bright yellow moonstones. _Bird's eye,_ yet again.

Leave it to everyone else to be involved in some kind of jolly cooperation while he was left spinning endlessly in circles. As he reopened the pin box to compare the two, and to confirm that _yes, of course,_ they matched as a set, Liechtenstein piped up again.

"I wasn't sure what to get you, so I called Ms. Hungary to find out different things that you'd like."

"You didn't have to get me anything," he felt himself saying before he could help it. An automatic response, because really, _this is all quite unexpected._

"I know, I know," the girl waved off his statement, leaning against the table. "I still wanted to, since we don't really see each other anymore for the holidays."

The air chilled slightly at the smaller country's words, but he just nodded in agreement. It _had_ been some time since the last time he'd ever spent the holidays with Liechtenstein, and even then he was sure he never got to spend it with her fully, or alone, and definitely not since she'd been taken in by the Swiss.

"And we decided to each get you part of a set," Hungary said, rubbing her hand up and down his sweater sleeve. "You like them, don't you?"

"Certainly," he answered immediately, ready for a brighter mood. He flashed both women a genuine smile once more. "I can't wait to wear them."

Austria glanced to his right to see Switzerland watching him sleepily. The man had sat back in his chair to give his sister a better view of the Austrian opening his presents, head tilted to rest against the back of the seat.

The front of the vibrant red shawl was still clutched firmly in front of his chest.

**...xXx...**

Soon after he had opened his set of adornments, Austria urged the others to finish up the last of their gifts. He could save his Secret Santa gift until last, as he was most certain it was just wine. Though, wine from _whom_ was another story.

Liechtenstein opened the gift from him first; delighted when she pulled a soft, tissue wrapped bundle out from the little bag. The blonde girl hugged the package to her chest excitedly, glancing at him with open mouthed glee and a gleam in her jade eyes that said she could probably guess what was inside. The aristocrat kept a passive expression on his face and just nodded at her to continue.

The girl dug through the thin paper and her grin widened, dimpling her rosy cheeks. She pulled out a multi-shaded purple shawlette, knitted with scalloped edging. The blond ran her fingers along the smooth pattern before laying it across her shoulders, wrapping it around her neck a few times. He'd tried his best to get as close to the color of her usually adorning hair ribbon as possible, and went with the few closest hues he could find.

 _Really._ As if he _wouldn't_ knit something for her, as well. Especially when he knew how much Liechtenstein enjoyed making clothing, herself. Just another similarity the two of them shared.

The younger country was thanking him profusely while trying her best to both let Hungary and Switzerland get a good look at the material. The Swiss made a quiet comment about how it would go well with her ribbon, and a swell of pride bloomed in the Austrian's chest. Even drunk and tired the man still had noticed, and that was enough for the brunet to be glad.

Austria also noticed, however, that the man was sipping another glass of _Glühwein._ The aristocrat deigned to allow himself one, too.

Anything to keep the pleasant hum going on in the back of his mind that was calming his nervousness, achy wrists, and subsequently letting him just _enjoy_ the festivities.

Liechtenstein's last little gift, the one from the name drawing, was filled with neatly scented things. Like oils and lotions, a lilac and peach candle, and some natural brands of shampoo and conditioner. France had good taste in beauty products, at least.

Hungary's last present was a little something from Austria to repay her for her gift tonight. Their main Christmas gifts were to be exchanged when they got together with the others in a couple of weeks, but he'd gotten a little something extra for this whole reason.

Austria had originally wanted to get her a new watch, but Italy had beaten him to it. He remembered the Hungarian's old one breaking not to long ago after nearly 70 years of wearing it. She'd been devastated, after having kept good care of the watch since it was originally a gift from the jovial Italian for her birthday.

The Austrian was sure she still had it, even if she couldn't wear it any more. Italy, upon hearing about the loss, had dragged him around to various jewelry stores a few weeks ago, wanting assistance with helping him pick out a new watch for the woman. They'd settled on a lightly tanned leather band, oval shaped silver, with watercolor tulips painted on the face. Nothing too fancy, and sturdier than her last one.

To go with her upcoming new watch, Austria had gotten her matching spun glass tulip earrings, necklace, and bracelet in the same colors as the tulips on the clock face. Her and Liechtenstein weren't the only ones who could collude on things. She'd smiled and kissed his cheek in thanks, admiring the bracelet on her wrist, and he cast a glance to Italy sitting at the next table over. Hungary would definitely be over the moon when she'd received the matching watch.

The hour was late; _11:48pm,_ upon checking his own watch and the grandfather clock in the far corner. Over half of the tables were still occupied, but the crowd was thinning more and more as the night went on.

The few who weren't staying the night had left early to try and make it to their hotels before the snow got too heavy—a futile effort, judging from the amount of snow still coming down outside the windows. Most had given up trying to get out of his driveway, their rental cars not up to the task, and returned defeated to occupy more of his guest rooms. Austria made a mental note to call a plowing service in the morning.

The rest that had left their tables were either mingling out in the foyer or around the banquet hall at other tables; lounging on the available couches, smoking, drinking, eating seconds or thirds, sharing their gifts, or they've disappeared upstairs already to get some sleep.

Austria wished he could escape into his own canopy bed, as he was still full and warm and brimming with alcoholic vim. But the night was set to last much longer for him than any of the others, as he would have to tidy up once everyone had retired for the evening.

The brunet wasn't the only one drunk, either. Aside from Switzerland, Hungary herself had consumed many glasses of _pálinka_ and champagne throughout their meal and exchange, and the woman was in a constant lean against his side. Liechtenstein was even on her fourth goblet of mulled wine, cheeks ablaze with a drowsy smile perpetually on her face. It looked like most everyone else throughout the room were cast in some state of intoxication; from a slight buzz to full-on slurring, yammering, or passed out.

Switzerland was drinking yet another serving of spiced wine. Austria didn't want to feel left behind, so there was nothing to be done but to top off his own drink with a refill.

The aristocrat was reaching for his last gift, the _supposed_ wine bag, ready to finish off opening their presents, when France came bounding into the hall like a rose-colored hurricane.

His sweater and antlers were gone, and the top three buttons of his dress shirt were undone, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. France's skin was flushed from his cheeks to down his neck, and he was slightly out of breath, grinning like a fiendish hound. Jogging directly towards the dwindling supply of alcohol, the Frenchman shot the Austrian a look, grin widening as he placed a finger over his lips in a shushing motion before quickly perusing the collection of spirits.

 _What is that loon up to now?_ Austria thought, already feeling apprehensive. Even Hungary sat up from his shoulder, and the two blondes to his right turned to curiously watch the bearded man, as well.

Not a minute later, England burst through the foyer doors. His blond hair was an utter mess, bangs sticking up like alfalfa under the sheep-eared hat that was now placed upon his head once more. His jumper was wrinkled, the sleeves also rolled up, and he looked positively _blasted._ Austria prematurely rubbed his temple in preparation for some amount of lunacy as the Englishman lifted his hands up and shouted to get everyone's attention.

"Oi! Any of ya lightweights wanna take me on?" he called, his usually prim accent dipping into something looser, words slushing together with a rougher assailment of over exaggerated vowels. His expression and posture were a volatile mix of irritated, cocky daring. "I got a foul taste in me mouth tha' needs rinsin', 'n I bet I could drink the lot of ya under any table in'ere!"

In his right hand England was holding up a dark bottle of _who-knows-what_ and grasping it around the neck like a doll.

The rest of the guests began defending their honorable tolerances to the British madman, or snickering with each other in pairs.

"Is there a prize?" A lively voice rose up above the rest, and the Austrian gazed over to Russia, who was calmly tipping back in his chair. The larger nation had been packing away glass after glass of wine and _presumably_ vodka all night, and yet he looked perfectly in control of all his faculties, his cheeks only their normal rosy color. Unlike a certain Brit.

England blinked a few times, as if he needed his eyes to hear what the man had said. "What?"

"A prize!" The Russian cheered, clapping his hands together as he lowered his chair back to the ground. His dark eyes had a dangerous glint to them, but his smile was still sugary sweet. "What do we win for beating you at this little game?"

"O'course there's a prize! Ish, uh . . ." England slurred, lowering his arms as he looked around himself as if a chest of gold would suddenly appear for him to utilize. "Ya win—" He squinted at the bottle in his hand before raising that up in the air again, waving it around like it was a trophy he'd already won. "This!"

"Hey, now!" France hailed, pointing across the length of the banquet hall at the Brit from his stance beside the buffet tables. He flipped his hair out of his eyes and cried out in accentuated alarm, "That's a bottle of _1910 Absinthe La Constantine,_ and I gave that to you in confidence!"

"Exactly!" England stuck out his tongue at the man like an impudent child and hugged the bottle to his chest. "'s _mine_ now, and I can fuckin' do w'it what I want, ya uncooked chicken wing!"

Austria wanted to evaporate from this nonsense. Filled with regret that he was allowing this in his house, he shared a glance with the Frenchman. The man was beaming wildly, looking perfectly enthused, and the aristocrat was more than sure that the whole thing was some sort of French plot coming to fruition.

He almost felt a pang of pity for the wasted Brit. _Almost._

The "prize" wasn't much of anything, really—even though that _was_ a fair antique bottle of absinthe—but over two dozen or so countries stood up anyways, rising to the challenge or just wanting to witness the amusements such a competition were sure to bring.

At the table beside theirs, Prussia slammed his hands down on the surface and stood up quickly, shouting, "I'll take that bet!" Both Italy brothers startled at the sudden outburst, like wide-eyed deer, and Germany just groaned.

The silver-haired man turned around to face them, red eyes scanning them with purpose before landing on Austria. The brunet frowned, already hearing, _No,_ in his head at whatever the man was about to say.

 _"Öster-Mann~"_ the Prussian sang too sweetly to be anything but predatory.

"Don't involve me in your drunken antics," Austria scoffed, sipping his wine. "I prefer to savor my alcohol." _And drink in better company._

Prussia crossed his arms, undeterred and still smiling. "As if, you ponce. You can out drink any barman West of the Rhine."

"Well," he murmured into the lip of his glass, "that's because they're all French."

Austria couldn't quite bite back his smug smile as he heard the Swiss beside him snap a quiet, _"Hey!"_

"Just this once, then? England's easy pickings."

"No, thank you."

"You could beat any of those losers!"

"You go for it, then." Austria sighed and leaned back in his seat, gesturing with his goblet in his hand as he took a sip, saying, "I'm afraid I'm pacing myself tonight, Gilbert, and I am unfortunately more than a little inebriated already." He _was,_ most definitely, so he wasn't moving from his spot until it was time to start cleaning up.

Prussia gave up trying to convince him, instead turning his excitement to the woman on Austria's left. _"Hun-gar-yyy!"_

Said woman just rolled her eyes and shook her head, her response light and concise. "I don't need to prove I can hold my liquor better than you silly men."

"Come on, then!" Prussia egged. "Stop drinking that sissy piss and let's wipe the floor with that boaster!"

At hearing her beloved _pálinka_ referred to so vulgarly Hungary stood up, adjusting her dress skirt with a huff. She began stepping around the table towards the man, hands on her hips, and came to a stop about a foot in front of the Prussian. He was just drunk enough not to flinch at her steely gaze, and instead he just continued to give the woman that blinding smile of his, red irises glimmering in the radiating firelight like garnets in a showroom.

They held each others' gazes for a long moment, Austria unsure if the Hungarian was going to slug the idiot or fall over where she stood— _oh dear, she's just swaying on her feet_ —and the standoff ended with a haughty _harumph._

Hungary started tying back her curls with a rally of, "Fine! This should be over quickly, anyway!" and the determined woman marched for England. Prussia followed close behind with a victorious cackle. Germany got up to follow— _thank goodness, someone has to keep an eye on that buffoon_ —Italy hanging off his arm, and Southern Italy forced Spain to get up to join the others with him, even though the Spaniard was already calling out encouragements.

"Aussy!" The Austrian lifted his gaze up at the further butchering of his name to fix the drunkard England with his sternest glare. The man looked unperturbed, waving his competitors out the doors into the foyer as he called out, "We're gonna use your parlor! Tha's all right, innit?"

Austria pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling. He set his wine down and stood, smoothing down his sweater and stretching his legs for a moment. _So much for not moving._

He began stepping around the back of Hungary's empty chair, walking to where France was still plundering the spread of alcohols. The Austrian projected his voice loudly and firmly enough so as everyone could hear him, even out into the foyer, "Any property damage will be paid for in full before you leave. If you vomit, you clean it up. And absolutely _no_ fighting."

He waited as the crowd paused, all nodding and agreeing solemnly, suddenly very serious about not upsetting their host. Austria waited until he'd met every pair of eyes before sighing, waving his hand at them and calling, "Go! Have fun! Merry Christmas, you lunatics."

Most everyone waved in acknowledgment, calling out choruses of _"okay's"_ and _"will do's"_ at him.

The musician didn't trust any of them as far as he could throw them. Which would be _outside._ Into the snow.

Austria came to stand on France's right, watching the man as he plucked out full bottles of whiskey and rum and set them along the table's edge. The man glanced to him, tucking some stray hair behind his ear while saying, "So, you're not going to join us?"

"No." He crossed his arms, and he put on his best reprimanding tone. "What have you started in my home, Francis?"

"Just a fun distraction," France said innocently. The gleam in his blue eyes said otherwise, but the Austrian decided not to push it like he usually would.

Honestly, out of sight, out of mind. _For now._

Austria just sighed and began gathering a couple of fresh glasses from the end of the table, filling them with water and measured scoops of ice. He and Switzerland had gone too long only tipping back drink, after drink, after drink, with no hydration in between, and he was going to amend that. Lest they were both going to suffer from terrible hangovers.

In his peripherals he saw France snap his fingers, exclaiming, _"Oh!"_ under his breath before swiftly retreating from the alcohol lineup. The aristocrat's gaze followed him over his shoulder to see the man amble over to their table, bending over next to his chair where Hungary had sat and picking up two bottles from inside a paper bag that the Austrian hadn't noticed before.

And now that he was looking, it was the _only_ bag that France had next to his seat.

Austria turned towards the Christmas tree, craning his head to try and scan around the bottom branches. Nothing. Just the golden skirt on marble flooring. He looked back to the floor around the Frenchman's chair and he felt his eyebrows furrow, his chest tightening a small amount.

 _Where are his gifts?_ he thought, watching France worriedly as he stepped around towards the blond siblings. _Did no one draw his name?_

"Pour toi!" France was crooning, leaning between Switzerland and his sister. He saw the man set his two mystery bottles down in front of the pair, both dark with little white ribbons tied around the necks. _"Pernod Fils circa 1905_ for the handsome man, and a sweet _Pinot Noir_ for the beautiful lady."

"Oh, danke!" Liechtenstein happily thanked the Frenchman as the Swiss hesitantly reached for his own bottle of absinthe.

"Are you sure?" Switzerland asked, carefully touching the dark amber bottle. "This is really rare."

France just waved his hands airily and bowed at his heel with a flourish, repeating, "Pour toi, chérie."

The Swiss still seemed reluctant, if flustered at the gift, but he managed to thank the bearded man nonetheless. Austria waited for France to return to him at the buffet table, now holding the empty paper bag to fill with the bottles of whiskey and rum he'd procured for the ridiculous drink-off.

He leaned in and quieted his voice, making sure the others wouldn't hear him as he whispered, "Where are your presents?"

"What are you talking about?" France asked, truly looking surprised at his question. He paused from his bottle stacking.

"Shouldn't someone have pulled your name from the hat?" The aristocrat covertly gestured to the emptiness around his deserted seat. "Why haven't you got any gifts to open?"

"Ah. That." France started packing away the bottles once more, trying to seem impassive. Something he'd _never_ been good at, the Austrian knew, since the man was always open about his emotions. He didn't miss the way the other's face fell just the slightest. "I kept my name out from the drawing."

"What?" Austria wavered, stunned at the admission. "Why's that? This whole thing was your idea."

"To balance it out," the Frenchman said, and he finished placing the last bottle in the bag. He began to carefully lift the bag'o'spirits. "I kept a couple names out for—" he glanced at the Austrian, attempting a lopsided smile, "— _reasons._ So, you know, I took my name out to keep things even."

"Francis." The brunet reached over to take hold of the man's forearm as he started walking away. He met those blue eyes again, his slightly muddled mind trying to understand the soft look there.

The French blond just lifted his expression into a brighter one, like earlier, before he leaned in to smooch Austria's temple, beard scratching his skin in his haste as he took off down the hall.

The aristocrat stood there in shock, wondering about the other names France must have kept from the hat. There were around fifty guests, a perfect number to evenly pair up the names. He'd been practically _given_ Switzerland's name, so that was one. France had held onto England's name so he could bother him in his usual fashion, and also kept his own name out, so that was three names.

That was uneven, though, and Austria frowned. Who was the fourth?

 _No._ This wasn't right. There was an odd bubble of guilt floating around the inside of his gut, and it was acute, torturous even. _Should I go get his gift?_ The brunet had gotten the Frenchman something for the holidays the last time he went out the other day in the market, despite feigning he didn't. _That was the point._ The Austrian wasn't going to be stingy this season.

Especially not when the other man went through all this trouble, and the fact that they were, unforgettably sometimes, _friends._ However, he hadn't planned on giving it to him during the party.

Though, it didn't seem right that France be the only one left out that night, unable to open a present. It felt _wrong._ Unfair.

Austria was about to call after the unbelievably foolhardy, birdbrained, _bighearted—_

"Is everything okay?"

He startled at the words next to him, Liechtenstein appearing beside him like an apparition. Placing a hand over his quickly beating heart to steady himself, Austria schooled his features from troubled to tranquil, not wanting to bother the younger country.

"It's nothing," he assured, twisting around to grab the two glasses of water from the table. He spared once last glance to the retreating figure of France before the nation disappeared out into the foyer with the rest of the excitable crowd. "He's just being, well, you know."

_I'll make sure to talk to him later._

"I see." Liechtenstein grabbed several spare glasses from the table and smiled up at him, lowering her voice slightly. "I'm going to go sit with Miss Ukraine, if that's all right. I want to catch up with her and see if she opened her gift yet."

Austria looked over to see said woman sitting at a nearly empty table, Russia and the others having gotten up to join in the drinking competition. Nearly the whole right side—Austria's now left—of the room was empty, aside from a napping Wales who'd been abandoned by his brothers, Iceland and Norway chatting in the corner, and Poland, who sat beside Ukraine now in quiet conversation. It was a relief to see that the man had recovered from his earlier embarrassment induced state of shock.

The Austrian turned back to Liechtenstein, nodding at her request. "Of course. Go enjoy yourself, my dear."

The smaller country thanked him and gave him a hug, just a quick embrace around his middle that took him by surprise. "For the shawl," she'd said, and then she was trotting off around the tables with her glasses and new bottle of wine, the little purple shawlette fluttering around her shoulders.

Austria walked over to his seat, setting down one of the glasses of water in front of the Swiss. He really didn't mind that the room was emptier now, or that it was just them at the table for the second time that night.

Amethyst eyes caught sight of the firelight flickering across those strands of golden hair, and he felt most of his nerves dissipate like a drop of water in a pond. Any time he could have Switzerland to himself was a good time, he reminded himself— _despite_ his abundance of insecurities and inability to shut off his manic brain for more than a few minutes to just enjoy the gift horse sitting next to him.

_Oh, God, the schnapps are talking again._

Switzerland passed through the last hour quietly, eyes half-lidded with fatigue and words soft. Like a dial had been turned down within him and he was running on the barest of energy allowed. The blond man looked up at him as Austria sat down in his seat.

"Is France feeling okay?" Switzerland murmured, one hand holding the neck of the absinthe he'd received, thumbing over the cap.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know, he just seems a little . . ."

"Hyperactive?"

"Lonely."

Austria nodded, despite himself, glancing to the open banquet doors where he'd last seen the Frenchman. So it wasn't just him. The blond had noticed, too. He looked back to his companion, waving his hand at the glass he set before him. "It must just be the time of year," he spun easily, "You know how we all can get." _I know._ "This is for you, by the way."

Switzerland seemed to let the topic go and grabbed the glass the Austrian passed to him.

"Vodka?" the Swiss asked. "Gin?"

 _"Water,"_ the aristocrat said, chuckling.

"Ah." Switzerland picked the water up and sipped at it, ice tinkling inside the glass. "I s'pose that's fair. Can't remember the last time I got to drink this much, so thanks in advance for my helluva hangover." His words were slurred just the slightest.

"We'll sport matching ones, I'm sure."

"Cheers to that."

"Cheers." They clinked their glasses in solidarity.

Austria spent the next few minutes or so listening to the soft Christmas music playing from the stereo, trying to recognize the tune through his drunken haze.

France hadn't let him touch the music for the event, something he'd admittedly gotten more than a little displeased by. But the man had said he'd already put together a few discs of holiday music from around the world and some extra easy piano, so Austria let it slide, seeing as how he would have done the same. Maybe with more piano.

The musician was grateful he wasn't showing it on the outside, or he hoped he wasn't, but the tingle of alcohol in the back of his throat and in the forefront of his mind were more than enough to slow his thoughts.

Was it _Jingle Bell Rock?_ Wait, no, it was a little slower—oh, ah, _Winter Wonderland,_ then. Right, yes, that was it. How silly of him to mix them up. Though, if he were being honest, _most_ commercial Christmas songs sounded alike, especially to boozed up ears.

"Hey."

The Austrian looked up from the tablecloth he'd absently been staring at, turning toward the blond on his right. Switzerland was looking a bit more alert, gaze slightly less cloudy. He, too, was studying the poinsettia pattern. There was a wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"Do you," the Swiss began, stopping to clear his throat. He sounded nervous. _Nervous?_ "Do you want to open your present?"

Austria's heart sped up a little during the pause, his intoxicated mind immediately assuming the man was going to refer to the distressing bundle of leaves hanging above him that he _just couldn't forget about._ But thankfully, that didn't seem to be the case.

"If you want," he said, making it sound like it was the Swiss making him do such a thing as he reached down to grab the thin bag. He _was_ curious, but he could put off seeing what the gift was until later.

Switzerland took another drink of his water before sitting back in his seat, pulling the tri-colored shawl around him comfortably as he tucked a leg under himself. The man took off his peppermint headband and set it on the table, running his fingers through his hair and rubbing his head in relief.

Austria was distracted momentarily by the movement, chest warm at seeing that the man seemed already attached to the knit and getting more comfortable, but soon corrected himself. He ran his fingers down the side of the gift bag. Sleek, black plastic with golden tissue paper puffed at the top, and a simple name tag hung off of one of the handles.

He'd already started pulling at the paper when he realized that the tag had his name on it. His _actual_ name. _Roderich Edelstein._ Which was especially odd. And it was handwritten in a scrawl that seemed weirdly familiar somehow. He turned the tag over in his hand. No _'From: So and so,'_ of course.

 _Oh dear, I'm just staring,_ Austria thought, cheeks heating up more at the realization. And Switzerland was just staring at _him._ Probably wanting him to hurry up and stop being so irritatingly slow.

"Sorry," he breathed, dropping the tag and resuming his work on the tissue paper.

What greeted him beneath the paper wasn't the cap of a wine bottle, or any sort of bottle, but instead was some sort of object wrapped in cloth. The brunet pulled out the object and set the empty bag aside, getting a better look at the fabric and sliding it off of the mysterious object. The object looked to be some sort of black case, long and thin, but robust with two clasps on the side.

Austria set the box down and looked at the cloth, untwisting it. A small breath escaped him as he looked down at the thin scarf in his hands. It was made of pristine white cotton, and was very soft to the touch. However, it was the lines of black printed down the length that especially caught his eye.

Inked along the surface were notes of music. Even though it took a muffled moment for his brain to catch up, he soon recognized the sequence.

"Oh, look at this," he felt himself saying, tracing his fingertips along the first few notes, humming them in sequence. He absently reached over to pat the man's arm beside him, starting to get excited as he read through more of the pattern of notes and pointed them out. _"Stille Nacht._ Look, look. It's written for the piano, and the flute. Oh! And the violin, how nice. Right down the length, and the backside, too."

Switzerland made a quiet noise of acknowledgment beside him as he held up the scarf, turning it this way and that as he poured over the clear lines of music notes. It was just a scarf, so simple, and yet _so him._ Austria immediately wrapped it around his neck, swiftly feeling himself becoming fond of such an elementary piece of clothing.

"How do I look?" he asked lightly. Violet eyes glanced to his companion, pulling the scarf up to cover his mouth like a high collar.

Switzerland bit his lip, as if trying not to smirk, and he rolled his eyes. "Like your music is finally eating you."

"Good!" Austria huffed, smoothing the material down his chest. "That sounds like a perfect way to go."

"I bet," the Swiss chuckled.

The Austrian let himself enjoy the rough, untroubled sound of that laugh—such a thing more rare than anything else that had occurred that night by far.

"So far so good," Austria granted, reaching for the black case next. "Though, I suppose I'm more curious now as to whom my Secret Santa could be."

Switzerland's low laughter trailed off, and the man took another drink of water. For some reason, aside from the easy air between them, the other seemed anxious. Stiff.

 _Maybe he's sore from work,_ the aristocrat couldn't help but speculate. _Or he's feigning interest for my sake to speed this all up, that way he can retire for the evening._ His mood fell a bit at that idea.

Austria shook his needling thoughts away and flipped the clasps open on the side of the case. He didn't know why he thought the gift bag could have contained wine, as now he could see that the box and bag were much longer than a normal bottle of wine. Not by much, but still bigger.

Lifting the lid of the case, he felt all of his air escape him in a silent rush.

A flute lay beneath his hands in a bed of grey foam. It looked to be one whole piece of carved rich, dark wood. Down the entire length of the body, from head to foot, there was a design etched into the surface.

Reaching out, Austria ran a finger across the pattern, following the swirling grooves along several passes before gingerly picking the instrument out from the case. The wood felt solid, strong under his touch, and yet he still handled it with care. He couldn't stop running his fingers down the flute; feeling along the smoothly sanded holes, the knotted end, _the etchings._

Now that the instrument was free from its holdings and he could turn it over in his hands, he could see that the pattern cuts were shallow and clean, edges sanded smooth and darker than the surface of the wood. Maybe stained, he wondered. From far enough away the twists and twirls could look almost just like the grain of the wood flowing down the length. Up close, though, he could see the delicate addition of simple rounded leaves and flowers. Flowers that bloomed off the ends of the swirls in gentle moon crescents, tiny half circle petals engraved around the curves.

Austria brought the flute up to his face, breathing in the heavy, spiced scent of the wood. He was unable to smell any lingering stain, yet he could detect the faintest scent of linseed oil. He brushed his lips lightly against the mouth piece, over the air hole, closing his eyes against the smooth feeling, and inhaled deeply again as his fingertips instinctively took up rest over their proper places along the length.

An invisible cloud seemed to bleed into his lungs, expanding his chest, his heart, taking any thoughts with it to whirl around within him.

He straightened his back and let the pressure out.

The sound that emanated from the instrument, from his touch, from _him,_ was weighty, dark and deep; as if hot, black coffee were being poured into the air around him in languid loops. Only a burnished dash of cream to heighten the sensation, light and ticklish. Floating, curling, caressing over his skin like the touch of a lover before sleep.

His fingers moved of their own volition. Feeling over the fine-textured openings, the hum of air beneath his fingertips, stirring and adding more syrupy droplets into the metaphorical mixture. _Oh,_ how his bones resonated with the sound, his ears drinking it all up, his soul pounding.

Austria played on, uncaring of the destination, only wanting to hear and feel the notes tingle up his spine and off his tongue.

When the sensitivity of purpose had run its course through his heart, leaving it humming with satisfaction, he stilled his fingers on the final note, the last of his breath letting it linger a little longer in the air before fading off.

Austria opened his eyes and lowered the flute, blinking several times. He was still seated in the banquet hall; the colors brighter, more vivid than before, and the noises around him suddenly came back. The cracking of the hearth behind him. The low, unobtrusive piano radiating from the stereo. There was no sound of anybody else in the room, no quiet conversations or debating, and for a moment he thought himself alone.

Until he looked up.

All eyes were on him.

_Oh._

The crowd still remaining in the room were all turned to look at him. From the seated figures of the Czech Republic, Bulgaria, and Romania a few tables down from him, to Iceland and Norway in the farthest corner. Liechtenstein and company were, of course, looking his way, too, and it seemed that even Wales had awoken just to stare at him.

_They heard._

He didn't know why that realization surprised him.

"Oi! Tha' was bloody beautiful, mate!" Wales hollered out to him, cupping his hands around his mouth to be louder. "You oughtta be a musician or somethin'!"

The rest of the collective laughed at the drunk man, and a soft applause began circling around the room, a few more compliments tossed his way.

Austria felt his cheeks heat up, and he ducked his head in thanks. He was no stranger to performing, but that moment felt . . . oddly private. He hadn't meant to play so rashly, without even a song in mind, but it felt good to let himself be swept away with the flow of spontaneity for once.

The brunet cleared his throat as the room settled back into itself, feeling as if he would never stop blushing that night. He looked back to the flute in his hands, thumbing over the engravings once more reverently.

The instrument was truly a work of brilliant craftsmanship, as if it were hand carved just for him to play.

The Austrian felt giddy at the thought, but he held onto it nonetheless.

A soft sigh sounded beside him, and he snapped back to the present. He quickly turned to his blond companion, beginning to apologize, "Ah, sorry about that—"

His words died in his throat as he saw the look that Switzerland was giving him. Emerald eyes were clear and luminous, pupils blown wide, lips parted slightly. The man was leaning forward on his arm, as if gravity were pulling him towards the Austrian. One side of his blond hair that was tucked behind a round ear had fallen loose, aurous strands brushing against those pink, sun-kissed cheeks.

A look of _wonder._

It'd been so long since the Swiss had ever looked at him with anything close to that. He wanted to faint on the spot.

Instead, he babbled like an excitable babe. _"Well._ I didn't intend to play so suddenly," he rushed, fingertips sparking as he carefully placed the flute back in its custom case. "It's just, well, the flute _is_ really magnificent, and it just sort of came over me. I didn't mean to be so bold."

Switzerland inhaled deeply, sitting back. "Don't be," he said. He shook his head, golden hair falling even more loose from his ear. "You've always been impulsive when it comes to music."

Austria felt himself smiling at the statement, unable to refute it. "I suppose you're right." He lifted up the black bag his gifts had came in, placing the instrument case back inside it.

He checked the tag again, mind running down a list of nations he knew that could woodwork, or at least were good with their hands, and filtering them down an even smaller list of those who knew him well—and cared enough—to get him such a thoughtful gift.

"'s nice to hear, though. And 's good to know that, that _my_ impulsive decision paid off," Switzerland was murmuring, catching his attention away from his thoughts. The blond was staring at his glass of water, speaking as if he hadn't been interrupted. "You really do play quite beautifully."

Austria froze as he set the bag back down, gaze intent on the Swiss. A part of his mind was rolling over itself in joy at the compliment, spoken so casually, yet so sincere. Another part of his brain was trying to figure out the first part of the man's statement.

Then it hit him.

_"You."_

Switzerland raised his eyebrows, meeting his gaze. His lips pursed slightly, and emerald irises blinked at him in such a lackadaisical, unassuming fashion.

"Me."

The Austrian really did almost faint, if his thoughts weren't bouncing haphazardly around inside his skull.

_It all makes so much sense now._

He thought back to the meeting when the Frenchman had first announced the idea of a Secret Santa, holding out his hat for everyone to take a name. How Liechtenstein had been given a second name to take for her brother. How France _hadn't_ pulled that name tag from the hat, but instead from his sleeve. How the bearded man had purposely kept his own name out of the drawing to make things even, to make it _fair._

Four names.

_France, England, Switzerland, and Austria._

Austria felt like the biggest surprise of the night had just been opened, ribbon pulled loose, lid lifted, and all he could feel was dazed. Too many thoughts in too small a second. A cocktail of shock, recognition, and overwhelming mystification hit his stomach like an atom bomb.

The two men stared at each other as the proverbial cat leapt out of the bag, its tail curling around their hearts in mockery.

"I suppose we're each others' Secret Santa, then."

"How about that."

"Huh."

"Hmm."

He was going to kill France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Danke_ \- Thanks  
>  _Bitte_ \- You're welcome  
>  _Öster-Mann_ \- Aus-Man (a dumb nickname made up using the first bit of Österriech (Austria), pronounced "ooster-man")  
>  _Stille Nacht_ \- Silent Night (Fun Fact: The song Silent Night was composed by Franz Gruber and actually first sung in 1818, in Obernhorf, Austria!)
> 
> I agonized waaay too much over the part where Austria opens his gift. Almost as much as Switzerland. _Almost._


	6. With A Fire In His Hearth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistletoe makes another guest appearance, Switzerland is full of surprises, France is a tired bear, and Austria finds his heart growing three sizes for the holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the final, festive bit! Thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> And I know it's a little (lot) late, but whenever you're reading this, thank you so much for coming on this silly escapade with these dorks, and happy holidays!

_God,_ he felt so _stupid!_ How did he _not_ see this coming?! Here he'd been: _absolutely lamenting_ to the Frenchman about getting Switzerland a gift, and the whole time the man had been conspiring behind his back. Playing him and his old childhood friend against each other like a _fucking fiddle._

Well.

 _Viola,_ he heard France say in his head. He wanted to punch himself at the wordplay.

The Austrian groaned and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes for a moment. _I was so oblivious._ He thought back to Switzerland hiding his gift behind his leg after picking out his room to stay in, and how he acted so anxious about him opening it. He slid his specs back on, pushing them up his nose. _I might really be blind._

Austria soon recovered from the figurative blow to his heart, mind, and ego. He turned to his partner-in-French-hell, who had stayed silent during his brief mental break. Switzerland had finished off his water and was picking up one of the frozen chips to eat, keeping his green gaze trained steadily on him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the blond beat him to it. "What are the odds?" He pointed from himself to the aristocrat and back again. "That you 'n I got each others' names."

"Astronomical," Austria said flatly.

"Wasn't a coincidence, was it?"

Austria laughed mirthlessly, not even debating whether or not to tell him. "Definitely not."

Switzerland nodded to himself, eating another ice chip. He thought he heard the man mumble, _"Now 'm really gonna hit him,"_ under his breath. It was quiet a few beats before he looked back up to him, shrugging the shawl up more around him as it fell down his shoulders.

"So," he began, voice unexpectedly quiet. His eyes shied away again. Austria waited patiently for him to continue, desperate for something else to talk about. The blond dropped his voice even lower, sounding soft and almost timid. "Do you like the flute?"

"Are you kidding?" Austria blinked in surprise, answering immediately. "Of course I do. It's exquisite."

The Swiss' cheeks darkened and he ducked his head, some blond hair falling forward to hide a portion of his face. The expression made his pulse speed up. The brunet leaned towards the other man, resting his arms on the table as he said wholeheartedly, "It's honestly beautiful. Thank you, Vash."

It felt good to say his name, even once. It was worth it. Worth any scorn he might receive.

"You're welcome," Switzerland exhaled, eyes furrowed with something akin to confusion and caution as he raised them to meet his own yet again.

Austria took a drink of his long forgotten water, enjoying the crisp liquid as it helped clear a bit of his thoughts. Or, at least, give him a moment to process the last few minutes.

"Did you make this yourself?" the musician asked, running his hand down the side of the bag where the flute was. He posed the question carefully, not wanting to offend the Swiss either way. His heart thumped when the blond nodded, and he added, "You still carve a lot?"

"Not like I used to," Switzerland said, talking around a melting chip in his mouth. "That's the first thing I've made in years." The blond lifted the front of the shawl in his fist. "You?"

"The same goes for me." The Austrian ran a hand down the scarf of _Stille Nacht_ around his neck, hearing himself ask, "Did you make this, too?"

"Sort of." Switzerland shrugged a shoulder. "I bought the scarf, and had Lilli lend me some fabric ink to use to make the notes. Since I'm not . . . very good at stitching."

_That was my specialty._

Austria couldn't help the small smile adorning his lips, unable to will it away. He grabbed one end of the scarf, feeling warmth flood his chest at seeing the delicate, _hand drawn_ lines of music. They were aligned just right, inked with such precision. _He's such a perfectionist._

Another thought wiggled to the front of his mind, pressing into the moment. _We both took so much care with our gifts._

It looked like Christmas was turning out pleasant, after all.

Switzerland sat up quickly, jolting him from his thoughts. The blond downed his goblet of mulled wine in one go before reaching for the rest of the ice chips, finishing that off, too.

Austria became distracted by the line of the man's throat, the rhythmic muscle movement of him swallowing, the beads of condensation rolling down the glass and budding against his lips, a pink tongue darting out to catch them as he pulled the glass away.

"I wish France would bring us more of that gingerbread drink," Switzerland said afterwards.

The Austrian straightened up, crossing his legs. "Why's that?" He gave a small cough to clear his throat of the heat there, speaking as quick as he could to avoid suspicion—as if his train of thought would derail and careen right into the Swiss' own mind.

Switzerland just shook his head as he sat his goblet down. He made a gesture with his now free hand, sitting back in his chair and turning to face the aristocrat head on. "Because, if I'm going through with _that_ then I want to be as drunk as possible."

Austria didn't need to follow the blond's finger to know what he was pointing at.

That he was pointing _up._

He just needed the stone cherubs to peel themselves away from the hearth and fly over to drag him into the fireplace with them and _away from this never ending slue of shame oh my God—_

Switzerland lowered his hand, raising a single eyebrow at him. "Well?" he said.

"I was hoping you wouldn't notice," Austria croaked. It seemed his voice—nor heart—would never recover from the trauma that night was causing him.

"Oh? So you _did_ know, then. _Huh."_ The Swiss clucked his tongue, gaze scanning the empty abundance of glasses on their table before returning to pin him to the spot. "'s that why you've been keepin' pace with me?"

Austria waved his hand uselessly, opening and closing his mouth several times in search for a proper answer. "More or less." _Why is this happening to me?_ "How long have you known about it?"

"Since we arrived."

The Austrian felt too hot, to constricted, the air reverting back to its choking ways from his attack of loathing earlier. _'Since we arrived.'_ He inwardly scoffed. The Swiss had willingly sat beside him throughout the night despite knowing that they were seated right beneath a bundle of mistletoe. Even though _he_ himself hadn't figured it out until an hour or so in to the festivities. He'd known. He'd _known,_ and he _still_ sat down.

Austria's world was a mess.

_I must be beyond drunk. This is just a dream. I've gone to bed upstairs and I'm dreaming._

It was the only explanation for the wave of unnatural calm that enveloped him as his whole plane of existence was ripped out from underneath him.

"How about a hug instead?" Switzerland offered bitterly, puffing a breath of laughter. His tone was facetious, dry, with the barest wobble in his words. Must be the wine, or the need for sleep.

 _Good thing I'm definitely asleep, because there's just no_ fucking _way I'm really this unlucky._

Austria swallowed the lump in his throat and gave a minute nod to the blond's words, unwilling to actually admit to wanting such a thing, or to give in to the _ludicrous_ stab of disappointment in his heart at avoiding the intent of the berries above them.

The brunet turned sideways in his chair, and now the two of them were fully facing each other for the second time that evening. Attempting to achieve the same goal, _an embrace,_ yet now with more preamble.

A few seconds ticked by.

Then a minute.

An upbeat guitar song with bells and drums drifting from the stereo ended, and a gentle melody of piano and violin started up.

"Why's this so difficult?" Austria whispered, half to himself, half to whatever deity was messing with him that evening. "We did it earlier."

"Don't ask me, idiot," the Swiss snapped, red faced and haughty with renewed vigor.

The Austrian considered his belly of grotesque serenity, and felt emboldened to at least make a quip. "Well, I _was_ asking you, as a matter of fact."

 _Huff._ "I'm not standing up for everyone to gawk at." Emerald eyes scanned around the room in concern, all previous exhaustion in his posture now replaced with tension.

"Neither am I." _Is this really happening?_

"I don't want Lilli to see, ah, _that."_ His green gaze stared over the brunet's shoulder.

"Of course." _Didn't she earlier?_

"And I don't want France to come back and see—Gott, verdammt, _if he sees—"_ Switzerland finally brought his gaze back to meet Austria's, his voice losing its hardened edge just for a moment.

"I know. Trust me." Austria took a deep breath, slowly coming back to himself at hearing the panic in the other's voice. "Neither one of us would live it down." _Is he going to hold me again?_

"I just . . ." Switzerland tensed up his shoulders, holding the shawl tightly around himself like a barrier as he stared hard at the table. His jaw was set, cheeks as red as the tablecloth; seemingly permanently so from an overabundance of wine, schnapps, frustration, and what looked to be utter embarrassment.

The brunet could hardly blame him, he probably looked the same.

It was then that he felt the need to diffuse the ridiculous situation.

Austria pet down his scarf, murmuring reassuringly to the blond man, "It's all right, we don't have to do anything." He raised up a hand slowly to catch Switzerland's attention, as if lifting his chin up so he would meet his stare. Violet eyes softened, and he allowed himself a small smile, voice easier now as he reiterated, "Nothing at all."

The Swiss held his gaze, then he relaxed his back and tilted his head back with a groan. He stayed staring upwards for a moment, slumping almost in defeat. "Just, _ugh,_ I wish I could have been a bit more drunk for this."

"What?" Austria actually managed to genuinely laugh despite the absurd moment, sounding low and gravelly with wine. "You're incredibly drunk as is. I don't even remember the last time that you—"

There was a soft press of lips to his cheek.

His words cutoff, blocking the necessary air to breathe. _All of it._

The scent of wine and wintergreen harassed his senses, a mixture of hot and cool spice. Wheat-colored hair tickled his nose, and a hand on either side of his neck held him steady.

The touch was very light, a trembling, feathery brush of silken lips against skin. 

Supple, warm, _so warm,_ the kiss was short and sweet and, and . . .

It sent him melting.

**...xXx...**

"Here he is."

"Oh, _merde."_

"Is he going to be all right?"

"He's fine."

"He looks awful pale, though."

"He's just being dramatic."

"Brother, please."

"Roderich. Hey, hey! Mon ami, come back to us, oui?"

Austria opened his eyes slowly, feeling a hand against his cheek guiding him out of the haze he was trapped in. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to get his bearings.

The back of his head stung, and his chest ached. It felt like he'd been struck, all over, the air a little harder to breathe. He blinked once, feeling the coldness of stone seep into his clothing. Was he on the floor? He let his gaze flow over the plethora of streamers and graven marble above him.

_When did I get down here?_

Two faces hovered over him, blocking his view of the decorative ceiling.

"And he's alive," France praised, sounding relieved. A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth as his blue eyes crinkled at him. "It was touch and go there, truly."

"Hardy-har," he muttered, weakly glaring at the bearded man. He tried sitting up, making it as far as his elbows before the Frenchman laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "What happened?"

"You fainted," Liechtenstein said, patting his other shoulder.

"Really?"

"What a silly thing to do," France added quietly.

"Oh, my."

The aristocrat was about to ask _why_ he had fainted out of his seat, as if the others would know and not him. However, he spied Switzerland lingering above them at his feet, leaning one knee on the Austrian's now vacant chair, and it all came rushing back to him.

Now he really _did_ feel like he'd been hit. By a truck. A blond truck. _With soft lips._

Austria gulped, unable to tear his gaze away from the Swiss man.

"One too many of these, I assume," Switzerland said, catching the other two's attentions, as well. He made a motion with one hand like he was tipping a glass to his lips. When the other's turned to look back at the brunet, he saw that the Swiss let his hand hover at his lips before pressing his index finger to them, forest green irises glittering in the firelight.

His mind easily supplied the shushing noise.

_A warning._

"Like he said," Austria croaked, gaze captured indefinitely by that emerald stare. Like a fish caught in a flashlight. He swallowed thickly. "I'm dramatic."

France gave his shoulder a squeeze and Liechtenstein smothered a laugh.

"Now that that's sorted," Switzerland uttered, pushing off his chair and standing fully. _"I'm_ off to get the best sleep of my life." The blond ducked down and grabbed his gift bag, fluttering the shawl off his shoulders and back on again more comfortably, wrapping around himself fully. "Merry Christmas, and good night," he called and stepped around the table, marching off down the hall with a wave of his hand. He didn't look back.

Liechtenstein had gotten up to skip over to her brother's side, offering to help him get upstairs, but he just waved her away, telling her he was fine and not to stay up too late. She peeped an agreement and jogged off back towards her spot next to Ukraine.

Austria watched the beautiful enigma of a man sway his way across the marble flooring. Wild, glowing vermilion cloaked around him, flaring behind him, golden hair waving atop the pillar of color.

The aristocrat could practically hear the music in his very being welling up as the moment slowed down for him—as if he were caught in one of those cheesy romantic comedies he'd never admit to watching. The beat of his heart the drums, the ringing in his ears the teasing violin, the nervous tap of his fingers like the press of piano keys.

The Swiss stalked across the banquet hall like a resilient flame, snuffed out from violet eyes as he rounded the corner.

Austria fell back to the marble beneath him, hiding his face in his hands as he groaned.

"It seems I missed some excitement while I was away."

The brunet slumped at the light note in France's tone, not willing to rise to the bait. He sighed and uncovered his face, purposely keeping his gaze above him. A little cluster of leaves and red berries the center of his vision.

"I will say, though," France continued, voice lowering just a smidgen. "It's a shame he didn't go for the lips."

 _"What!"_ Austria sat up so fast he nearly collided with the giggling Frenchman, face burning and heart racing. _He saw?!_

"I mean!" France cried, his laughter uncontrollable now as he protected himself against the Austrian's swatting hands. "I thought for sure he was drunk enough!"

_He saw!_

Austria stilled next to his French companion. He took back the thought about being stuck in a romance. He was trapped in a horror film. His mind was a torrent of terror and disgrace and embarrassment and _shit, shit, shit!_

France settled himself, still chuckling just a bit as he reached out to set a hand back on his shoulder. The Austrian opened his mouth to say something along the lines of, _'If you tell anyone, I'll roast you!'_ or _'Oh, God, why must you be so infuriating?!'_ but the bearded man spoke first.

"Don't worry, mon ami," he said, making a zipping motion across his smile. "My lips are sealed."

Austria scoffed, rolling his eyes. _That'll be the day._ He turned away from the man in defeat and made to stand, pointedly leaning on his chair and _not_ the Frenchman to do so. _I'm ruined. Positively ruined._

"I mean it." The brunet forced himself to look up, to loosen his death grip on the back of his seat. France gave a small grunt as he stood up next to him. His legs nearly gave out again at the look those kind, _too kind,_ baby blues were giving him. "I'm not going to say anything, Roderich, so don't fret."

Austria set his hands on either of the man's shoulders, letting himself relax. _Right._ France could be perfectly gracious sometimes. _Yes._ He had arranged everything at the party just so. _Okay._ He'd made sure he and Switzerland were each others' gift givers.

A tiny thought crossed his mind, on if he should maybe thank the Frenchman for all his efforts that ultimately resounded in the brunet receiving both a marvelous flute and an absolutely _stunning kiss_ from the last person on Earth he'd ever expect it from.

For some absurd reason, he felt himself smiling.

"I don't know whether to hit you," Austria grumbled, fixing the other's metallic rose-colored collar to give his hands something to do. "Or kiss you, you ruffian."

Pearly teeth flashed at him in a saucy grin. "Haven't you had enough kisses tonight, chérie?"

"A smack it is, then."

"Hey!"

A beat of silence. Soft music echoed around the crackling fire. Violet eyes lifted to blue.

"Thank you."

**...xXx...**

_December 24th_

Sunlit snow cascaded around the yard, reflecting against the glass like gentle sparks. Black trees stood bare against the mountain cliffside, and the snow drifted high against them and the side of the palace.

Austria sat on the leather sofa in his family room. He wore a thick, navy checkered robe over his cotton pajamas and furry wool socks, an added black shawl of his own draped atop him. The air was perfectly chilly and crisp for a winter morning, and the small fire he'd started in the hearth was just beginning to stretch and wake up. Legs curled up on the cushions and coverings pulled securely around him, the brunet leaned on his arms across the back of the couch.

Sipping at his warm mug of coffee, the man watched the snow fall through his sliding back doors.

His home was quieter now than it had been in days. Weeks, if he were honest. The party had ended in good spirits, deemed a success by most attendees with even some talk of possibly doing it again sometime in the future. With another country hosting, of course. The Austrian wasn't about to make it a yearly occurrence on his behalf.

Most everyone had retired around midnight. Some of his guests, particularly those participating in the drinking competition, hadn't seen their beds until dawn. Having ended up smoking and playing cards and dice after the main event had concluded.

Austria hadn't allowed himself to depart for his own bed until he'd made sure the rest of the drunken masses could at least get up the stairs and find their proper rooms, and even then he was out as soon as he'd collapsed on his mattress.

He never did find out who won the drinking contest. Oh well, he could find out later.

The Austrian had sent France to bed around a half hour or so after his _fainting fiasco_ —that's what his mind was calling it. He'd seen just how exhausted the man was, from setting everything up to mainly hosting and handling everybody throughout the night. After the two of them had put away the leftover food, leaving the spirits out for anyone who was still interested, he'd sent the Frenchman on his way.

He would to handle the rest of the evening, as thanks.

That mostly consisted of making sure the food was stored correctly in the kitchen. The others could pick out what dishes they wanted to take home in the morning. Liechtenstein, Ukraine, Iceland, and Norway, all such dears, had assisted him in cleaning up empty glasses and plates, and in return he gave them first pick of the leftovers. _And alcohol._

After that, he'd just proceeded to push in the empty chairs around the tables and gather up his bag of gifts. He'd fetched the music ornament off of the tree, wanting to put it on the tree that would go in the main part of his home when he decorated it Christmas Eve. He'd also unwound the music sheet scarf from his neck and placed it inside the bag with his flute case, catching Liechtenstein's eye as he did so.

 _"I don't even know where he found the time,"_ she'd said to him, _"to make such a beautiful thing."_

_"Me neither, but I'm glad he did."_

_"Me, too."_

Austria took another sip of his coffee, letting the liquid warm his belly. He held the mug closely to heat up his hands, breathing in the hot steam. His gaze followed a particularly fat snowflake as it fluttered, this way and that, landing against the window and dissolving.

Everyone had slept in the next morning, even those that had went to bed early. It was a very peculiar feeling when the Austrian had finally woken up. His home was full, the mood soft and easy. Few countries had gotten up before him, a feat not hard to accomplish most days, but he'd had enough foresight to set an alarm. That way he could see to anyone, if need be.

Estonia, Portugal, and Croatia were simply chatting when he'd found them in the main palace kitchen, offering to assist them with cooking breakfast.

The aristocrat had called the plow surface when he first woke, paying extra to have both his front and side porches shoveled and all the snow swept off of everyone's cars. The blizzard had finally weakened overnight, but not before dropping several feet of snow on his doorstep.

After the morning plows, those who had immediate flights to catch were gone, and those who had to wait for their delayed flights and train rides to reschedule stayed until evening, or early the next morning. Austria found he didn't mind as much as he thought he would at the extended stays. He would rather them wait and travel safely than miss their holiday plans altogether.

And, he would admit at least to himself, it was nice having company. There was certainly enough food.

Austria laid his head on his arm, cradling his coffee in his lap with one hand, never tiring of watching the snow outside. It was gentle, morning lonesomeness like this that he could enjoy. Before the storm, the day, kicked up.

Liechtenstein had risen some time around noon that next day, sticking to his side like a sleepy bundle while he mosied around his home. There was no real rush for anyone, least of all him. The week before Christmas blessedly allowed that kind of leniency.

Switzerland had gotten the sleep he'd so desired, and deserved. Sleeping well into the next evening before anything was heard from him. Austria and his sister had checked on him, once or twice, to make sure everything was fine, only to find him utterly passed out under a mound of blankets and comforter each time.

France slept, too, unsurprisingly. Only waking to eat a quick bowl of oatmeal before returning back to his guest room beside the Austrian's own. He'd repeated the same pattern several more times over the next couple days. The aristocrat thought nothing of it, and let him sleep.

By the time Switzerland had officially woken up, most of the other guests had left and Austria had prepared himself well enough to speak to the blond again. He'd had plenty of time to think over the _mistletoe mishap,_ another name his brain was calling it, and after much deliberation and introspection, he decided to just take it for what it was.

A kiss, on the cheek, for Christmas. For the sake of the mistletoe tradition.

It was both a comfort and a letdown when he'd found out that the Swiss didn't even seem to remember he'd done it. In fact, he hardly remembered anything after the gingerbread cocktail. He did thank him again for the shawl and the scarf, though, and the brunet reiterated how much he loved the flute. It was enough to see Switzerland blush all over again at that, to make up for him not recalling the kiss.

 _At least I will remember,_ Austria conceded. He would keep the moment to himself, and treasure it for the rest of his days.

His home was empty now. Everyone had left safe and sound, bound for their own countries, their own homes. He was told several times to expect a flood of seasonal thank you cards.

The Austrian took another drink of his coffee, closing his eyes to take a break from watching the bright snowfall. His mug was almost empty, and he made a lazy mental note to get up to fetch some more in a bit. Right then, though, he was too comfortable, content to just sink into his sofa.

Quiet footsteps sounded behind him from the hallway, and Austria turned his head to watch his only remaining house guest enter the family room.

France had his red robe on, his blond hair all-a-tangle from sleep. The bearded man covered a yawn as he shuffled over to him in his pink slippers, mumbling a soft, _"Good morning,"_ in his native tongue.

Austria watched the other plop on the leather beside him, steadying his coffee at the movement. "Did you get enough sleep?" he asked.

France nodded with another yawn and kicked off his slippers, tucking his legs up under him like the Austrian. He crossed his arms on the back of the couch and rested his chin on them, watching outside the glass door through half-lidded eyes. Austria drank the last bit of his coffee and set his mug down on the table, before re-situating himself and doing the same.

The snowflakes swirled on, almost mesmerizing, tapping against the window and melting like ghostly touches.

The Frenchman seemed almost subdued now that the banquet had ended, leaving the cleanup and sendoffs for the brunet to handle. He had mentioned something the previous night about catching a flight home later that afternoon, but he didn't seem to be in much hurry.

Though, the Austrian couldn't recall him saying he had any more plans for the holidays throughout his entire stay at his home. Which reminded him.

"Coffee?" Austria offered as he finally disentangled himself from his robes and stood. He picked up his empty mug and headed for the kitchen, hearing France call out a sleepy, _"Yes, please,"_ after him.

After he returned with more of the hot drink, the brunet set his full mug on the coffee table as he handed the other his own cup. Ignoring the curious stare at his back, the aristocrat walked off into the hallway and turned left, heading for his study.

Just inside, beside the cluttered desk, was a white gift bag with red and gold paper sticking out the top. He picked it up and shrugged his shawl more around him, heading back to the family room.

"What's that?" France asked, sounding and looking more awake now that he'd gotten some caffeine in his system. He ran a hand through his messy blond hair, pushing it away from his face.

Austria walked around the couch and set the bag down next to the wall, in the empty space where his Christmas tree would be placed later. The fir sat bare in his main hall, delivered fresh yesterday, and ready to be moved and decorated.

The French blond seemed to get more curious at his silence and leaned over the back of the sofa with his mug, almost rising up on his knees. "Who's the present for?"

"You."

The Austrian peeked over his shoulder as he straightened up, pleased to see the surprise flash over the other's face. Blue eyes widened and his mouth gaped open just enough to be endearing.

"Really?" France said, voice squeaking slightly. His gaze stayed glued to the musician as Austria rounded the end of the couch and sat back down, reaching for his coffee. He found his free hand taken by the blond's, palm heated from holding his mug. "Well, can I open it?"

Austria hummed into the lip of his cup, blowing gently to cool the hot contents. The corner of his eyes crinkled somewhat as he glanced up. "Not until Christmas."

The room around them went back to quiet, static and slowly warming. The look of eagerness began to morph on France's face to something else as those words sank in, the inner gears turning as he started to understand their meaning.

That the Austrian was asking him to stay for Christmas.

The brunet felt his cheeks heat up as he saw the smile budding and blooming on the bearded man's lips, and scowled into his coffee. He began to feel too exposed, like he'd been too forward, mind whirling with the need to rescind the offer.

"Or you can take it with you, for all I care," he huffed in a rush, getting defensive over his decision.

"Are you keeping me here just so I can move the tree for you?" France asked.

"What? No."

Silence pervaded the air once more. The hearth behind them snapped gently. Austria took a drink from his cup and stared pointedly out the back door. The snow was continuously bright, calm.

Eventually, the quiet was too much, his insides becoming mush with anticipation.

"So?" he asked, voice barely above that of a whisper.

"I'll stay."

Austria relaxed, exhaling into the steam rising from his mug. He looked to his companion, feeling the corner of his mouth tick up at the soft look there. "Ja?"

"Oui." France took a drink of coffee, giving his hand a squeeze and his heart a smile.

It certainly had been a rough, interesting few days, but he could admit to being glad for it.

Austria rubbed his thumb along the back of the blond's knuckles.

"Merry Christmas, my friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Gott verdammt_ \- God dammit  
>  _Merde_ – Shit  
>  _Mon ami_ – My friend  
>  _Oui_ – Yes  
>  _Chérie_ – Sweetheart  
>  _Ja_ – Yes 
> 
> Oh man, you guys, I was not planning on having a kiss, but I flipped a coin and thus here we are _so enjoy, lovelies~_
> 
> Especially YOU, livia_1291! Hope this little fic managed to make ya smile! :)
> 
> On a side note, I would recommend looking up holiday traditions in other countries! Seeing as I live in America, I didn't know a lot about any other ways to celebrate Christmas than my own, and it was truly an enlightening adventure through the internet. I hope to experience some of these traditions one day!
> 
> Place your bets for who won the drinking contest, and what you think France's gift should be! ;)
> 
> (PS: There are two Dark Souls meme references in this fic for the heck of it and kudos to anyone who noticed)


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